This Silent Sacrifice
by Njoki
Summary: Time travel/AU.  Cloud is cast into a new world when his planet is destroyed, tasked with saving this new younger planet, but can fate ever really be thwarted?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Time travel/AU. Cloud is cast into a new world when his planet is destroyed, tasked with saving this new younger planet, but can fate ever really be thwarted?

Warnings: Language, violence, sex (boy/boy), mentions of rape

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter one

_His lungs burned, screaming for release. His mind was broken. His eyes could not see passed the green haze surrounding him, engulfing him mind and body. Someone was speaking; he knew that voice, comfort was wrapped up in ever word if only he could unravel them from the pain. But he was too weak to conjure the face behind them, or to make sense of the words. Some were soft, whispered close, others shouted and screamed in vindication, but all meant for him. _

The familiar nightmare was shattered when Cloud found himself embraced by a gentle warm whiteness. He knew this place. He had no sense of his body, but it did not matter. He still floated in the world of dreams, but this one was far better than the one haunting him almost every night.

He felt her comforting presence before he heard her voice. But the usual sweet calming tones were broken by a desperate note of urgency. "Cloud! Cloud wake up!"

Cloud struggled against the fog enveloping his mind. _Wake up? Why?_ He was safe here, with her. There were no scientists to prod him or mako to burn him in this whiteness.

"Cloud!" Aeris called again. "You have to wake up! The planet needs you." Chaotic emotions spilled into him, splitting his peace.

Danger. Threat. Guardians. Fight. Survival.

The rush of jumbled consciousness broke across Cloud's hazy mind, snapping him into abrupt wakefulness.

His sapphire eyes cracked opened, glowing in the darkness of night. He was breathing heavily, hardly aware of his fingers closing upon a hidden knife's handle. It had been ten years since the Remnants, and the world was a safer place, but one could never be too careful. Old habits, drilled into his head and body from years of living under the constant shadow of death, were not easily broken.

Cloud felt the long body next to him shift into wakefulness. Silky hair spilled over his bare arm as Vincent propped his weight up on an elbow, crimson eyes raking over Cloud to pinpoint the problem.

"Cloud?"

Cloud shook his head, trying to get rid of the tendrils of scattered dreams. What had woken him? It didn't feel like his usual nightmare. He awoke from that one covered in sweat, usually with a bloodied lip from unconsciously trying to hold back the screams. But now he only felt an overwhelming _need_. There was something he _had_ to do, but what?

"I don't know, Vincent, I just felt…" Vincent waited.

Vincent knew him better than any other now living. Words were not needed between them, the silences so much more then moments without voice. Vincent was his closest friend. As time had passed, their similarities had drawn them closer. Tifa had finally accepted that Cloud would never love her as she wanted, never settle down and live a quite peacefully life nestled in her arms. He was addicted to wandering, to danger. The years spent hunting Sephiroth, cleansing the planet of monsters, had become a drug to him. And not even ten years had been able to purge the addiction.

His inner demons had driven him on, never granting him rest. His demons were of a different nature then Vincent's, but they drove him with the same fear. Fear of peace, fear of time, of his own mind, of the memories too painful to let go of. He would never find peace, but he had accepted that long ago. He was thankful though, that he did not have to be alone. Vincent was not his lover. They were friends first; the comfort of bodies was shared when needed, nothing more, nothing less.

They wandered. That was their life. Sometimes together, sometime seeking horded solitude, but they always found each other again.

Cloud did not abandon the others who had been there with him through the worst years in his life. Tifa had long since settled down with Barret, and unlikely couple at first, but they had fit surprisingly well together. Denzel and Marlene were gown now. Denzel an angsty teen who had never lost his hero worship for Cloud, but he had added Vincent to the list as well. Barrett's oil rigs had hit pay dirt, and he was now one of the richest men on the planet. Denzel had gotten his first motorcycle when he turned 16, and TIfa had finally caved and allowed Vincent to teach Denzel how to shoot. The boy was obsessed with guns and bikes. Marlene had shocked everyone by running off to marry Reno only last year. Barret nearly had a heart attack at the idea of his little girl marrying a Turk, and Tifa had threatened to wipe the floor with Reno if he every hurt her.

The years since the Remnants were not all filled with happy endings though. Only two years after the defeat of Kadaj, Cid and Yuffie had been killed when the _Highwind_ had crashed. The cause of the crash was never discovered, and it left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. Yuffie had taken up the rule of Chieftess of Wutai only two months before, and foul play was suspected, but nothing had ever been proved. The loss had devastated the remaining AVALANCHE members.

Reeve was still mayor of Edge and had done a fine job cleaning up the city, but all the stress had given him premature grays. He looked ten years older than his forty-one.

Cloud's eyes roved over Vincent's familiar aristocratic features as he tried to hold onto the fleeting dream. "Something is coming; I feel it, I just…" Cloud struggled to put his thoughts in order, "Aeris." He breathed finally, "I felt her, but how?"

He had not been visited by either Aeris or Zack since they had left him in the church all those years ago. He couldn't deny the hurt and abandonment he felt when he thought of them. He suspected they thought the separation was for his own good, but he missed them. He still visited the church with Aeris's healing pool and Zack's Buster Sword, he went there more often then was healthy he knew. But memories have a way of haunting a person. They clung to him, and he was too afraid of what he would be left with without them, to let them go. He cloaked himself in the past, unable to break free entirely. He would never be free of the lingering touch of Zack's memories, or the piece of Zack's soul still dwelling within his own lesser self.

But he no longer had to consciously work to be Cloud, and not Zack. The part of him that was Cloud before Hojo was lost forever; his memories were unbearably tainted. They filled him like pieces of shattered glass, fragments cutting into his soul that he clung to with bloodied fingers. Zack's memories were clearer to him then his own from before Hojo, before the mako, before the living death. He could never give them up; he didn't think he could face a Cloud without a part of Zack. In a small part of his soul he knew he was utterly terrified of what that Cloud would look like. Even without the conscious influence of Zack, he knew a large part of himself had been molded when he took on Zack's identity and lost his own. He was too much of a coward to discover what a Cloud without Zack would be like.

"Aeris?" Vincent questioned.

Cloud rarely spoke of Zack or Aeris to anyone. The guilt and regret were too deep, just as Vincent never spoke of Lucrecia, never voiced his own sorrow or broken desires. Sephiroth had brought them together in a sense. Not only the years of hunting him down, but the shared understanding. Vincent never spoke the words, but they hung between them, understood in the silence. Vincent regretted never knowing Sephiroth, his son; he blamed himself for abandoning him. For taking the word of a mad scientist who told him Lucrecia's child had died. Even before Vincent knew Sephiroth for his own blood, he would have tried to save him, to tear him from Hojo's clutches, even at the price of his own life. But Vincent was in no fit state to discern truth from the lies Hojo poured into his ear as he tore apart Vincent's body. So Vincent had laid himself down in a coffin believing Lucrecia and her child had perished, believing he had utterly failed. He sealed himself away from the world, taking the demons now living in his body with him as he sought out punishment for the sins he laid at his own feet.

Sephiroth was a monster. That was how all but two in this world saw him. But Cloud could never forget the Sephiroth he saw in Zack's memories. The friend. Cloud had no memories of Sephiroth before Nibelheim, he did not know if he had ever met him before, but with Zack's memories came an almost unwanted understanding. Sephiroth had consumed his existence for nearly ten years of his life. Hoio torturing his body, bent on bringing a second Sephiroth into the world. And after, all those years of hunting, fighting, hating the man for what he _did_, what he had _become_. But he knew, always knew, and could not escape the knowledge, that this was not the true Sephiroth. The man he fought and killed three times was little more than Jenova wearing the face of a friend, of Zack's friend. The friend in some of his most treasured memories.

"Yes, but I cannot remember what she wanted. But something… something important…" Cloud lost himself in thought, and Vincent silently watched the emotions flickering in the usually impassive blue depths. "I miss her…" Cloud breathed.

"Cloud…" Vincent hesitated, it was an unspoken rule between them not to speak of the past, but he had long wanted to know the answer to this question and the opportunity had presented itself. He only hoped the time had been enough too smooth the answer "Were you in love with her?"

Cloud snapped out of his drifting thoughts and gave Vincent a wary look, shuttering his eyes against the invasion. But then he sighed, the sudden defensive tension draining from his smaller frame. "It's complicated. You remember what I was like when I first met you? I still thought I was Zack, and Zack was in love with Aeris." There was a long pause. "We were lovers, yes, but I loved her as Zack, and when I came to myself I…" Cloud shook his head, golden spikes swaying in the movement. "I was never in love with her; she was only a sister to me."

Vincent was frowning, a rare show of emotion. "But she knew you were not Zack…"

Cloud shifted uncomfortably, "I had a piece of him in me, I acted like him, believed I was him. I remembered her…"

"Cloud, what did Aeris do when you discovered yourself?"

It was Cloud's turn to frown, "She asked me to forgive her. Of course there was nothing to forgive. I was mortified that I had… that I had…" he did not finish.

"You blamed yourself for what happened between you? She used you, Cloud." And now Vincent's voice had taken on a hint of anger that surprised Cloud.

"No! If I had not…"

"She knew you were not Zack, but she played upon that broken part of you that believed you were."

"But I…"

Vincent sighed, seeing the growing distress in Cloud's features. "Loneliness can lead even the purest of hearts to act selfishly. You were not Zack, but you were so like the man she loved, still loved… When Shelke…" Vincent paused, this was not a topic they often spoke of, but Cloud had shared one of his deepest and most guarded secrets with him. "There were pieces of Lucrecia in Shelke, and I admit that I was drawn to her. It is not so difficult to see how Aeris would have been pulled towards the part of Zack in you. It is long in the past now, though." They both knew this last statement meant nothing to either of them.

They sat in silence for a long moment. Cloud's thoughts betraying him to the past. To forgotten embraces, and kisses that now felt stolen and undeserved. He had felt guilt and shame over what had passed between himself and Aeris, and the weight of his regret had only doubled when he had failed to save her. Now though, he was confused. He had never once thought she had used him, how could she? She was Aeris. _But still she was a person_, he reminded himself, _and no one is perfect_. This revelation did nothing to lessen his own burden over her death, but he felt an unfamiliar lightness, as if one small piece on his sins had finally been erased and eased off his shoulders. She had told him he didn't need her to forgive him, because there was nothing to forgive, but he had never truly believed that. He could never forgive himself for failing her. For failing Zack. For failing so many. But somehow, he felt just a tiny bit better knowing the pale shadow of love they had shared, the fake love of lovers that neither had truly held for the other, was not entirely his fault.

Vincent pulled Cloud into an embrace, startling Cloud with the unexpected affection. They rarely touched outside of sex. But Cloud fell into the pale arms willingly, surprising himself with the unexpected comfort he found in Vincent's touch. Cloud's back pressed into Vincent's chest. He felt the warm tingle of Vincent's breath upon his bare neck, as Vincent setting one hand upon Cloud's hip, not quite comfortable enough to wrap him in a full embrace. But there was no awkwardness in the touch, and Cloud leaned back into the solid warmth of his friend.

Cloud's thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Aeris's voice broke into his waking world_. "CLOUD! Hurry, the planet needs you. Please, hurry! "_

"Aeris!" Cloud was already on his feet and reaching for First Tsurugi, "Where? What is it?"

"_Outside, the heavens are bleeding! Hurry Cloud!_

"Vincent, something's wrong." Cloud hastily pulled on his pants, not bothering to grab a shirt as he bolted out the door, Vincent at his heels, his gun already out.

Cloud's eyes scanned the darkness, searching for the danger, but it only took a moment before both their eyes were drawn upwards and a gasp escaped his lips. Stars were blotted out, a huge black shape covered an uncomfortable amount of the night sky. The meteor was huge, but what was most disturbing was the lack of fiery resistance it should have met when it breached the planet's atmosphere. The resistance was almost nonexistent though, as if the planet had been too weak to defend itself. The meteor was massive, and would have been devastating under normal conditions. But where the planet's atmosphere should have broken the large space rock into small bits by now, it was only slowing its progress by a hairs breath. Something was wrong.

Cloud turned to his companion, overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness the like of which he had not felt since the Geostigma when he had had to watch Denzel slowly dying. When his own body degraded about him, slowing rotting away. Cloud's eyes met yellow ones for a brief moment that seemed to last a lifetime. Everything was said, and nothing was said in that one look. Before Chaos leapt from the ground, his wings snapping in the night breeze as he hurled himself towards the end of the world.

Cloud watched, his fingers griping First Tsurugi uselessly, until they turned white. He could only stand and watch his friend sped towards what was sure to be his death. Not even Chaos could battle a meteor and live. Cloud knew he had looked upon his friend for the last time, and his heart tore under a grief threatening to bring him too his knees.

_No more!_ He could not bear to lose Vincent too. _Enough._ Enough pain, enough sorrow, enough death, enough regret. He was drowning in it, but he could not, would not take his eyes off the diminishing light that was Chaos's form. He watched as Chaos's light merged with the greater brightness of the meteor hurling towards them. And then there was nothing. Nothing to mark Vincent's passing. The light was gone, engulfed. And still the rock sped downwards, no dent in its surface, no ominous cracking giving evidence to Vincent's sacrifice. He was gone. At least Cloud would not have long before joining him in death.

"_Legend shall speak of sacrifice at world's end._" Cloud's head whipped around at the unfamiliar voice, his eyes finally tearing from the approaching doom. A man stepped from the shadows. Red leather coat flapping about him, a majestic black wing sprouting from his back. The man's azure eyes settled upon Cloud.

"_When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end_

_The goddess descends from the sky_

_Wings of light and dark spread afar_

_She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting."_

The man's voice was rich and cultured, strangely calming. Here they stood, seemingly at world's end, and this man was quoting _Loveless_. The man shook some of his auburn hair from his eyes, tossing his head back to cast a challenge up towards their approaching destruction. "_Even if the marrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return._" With that parting line the man leap into the air, drawing a red rapier sword as he threw himself at their approaching death.

Cloud watched in awe as the man's form was lost in a swirling tornado of green threads that looked eerily similar to the Lifestream. The man flew towards the meteor, his body cloaked in the whipping green. A crack broke the night sky, louder than any thunder, the very earth shook under the weight of the assault. The meteor split into four separate pieces under the man's attack, but he wasn't done yet. The green shrouded man crashed into the shattered pieces, breaking them down, smaller and smaller. The sky was filled with rock fragments and a growing blanket of ash blocking the man from Cloud's sight.

It seemed too unbelievable to be true. Cloud had been prepared for death to greet him in the next few seconds, but now? Cloud was overwhelmed by the sudden sense of being cheated. Death, the elusive mistress. He had not sought it for a long time with Vincent's companionship, but now? Despair filled Cloud, assaulting him, bringing him to his knees with the weight of Vincent's loss. Vincent had made the past bearable. But now that he was gone it beat down upon Cloud with a vengeance, squeezing the life from his lungs. He couldn't breathe! Vincent was _dead_. _Why did they always leave him?_ Vincent had been his lifeline; they had been each other's sanity when they felt the world aging about them, leaving them behind in the past. Ten years had come and gone, but Cloud had not aged a day, and Vincent still didn't look a day over twenty-five. The experiments forced upon them had twisted them, and frozen them in bodies that seemed doomed to remain stuck in the past along with their souls.

Cloud's eyes were dry and burning as he struggled for breath under the assault of grief. He knew he was being selfish, wishing for the world to end, for it all to stop, for relief, but he no longer cared. Life had lost its meaning, and he knew he could not survive this. Could not endure the years alone. But he could not cry; the tears would not come to relieve his burning eyes. Cloud Strife did not cry. Had not cried since he had disappeared into the Shinra mansion all those long years ago, where he had lost a part of his soul.

A gloved hand on his bare shoulder startled him. He jerked away from the unfamiliar touch, his hand flexing upon First Tsurugi, as he struggled to his feet, refusing to show weakness. It was the man. The man who had saved the world. The two world savers looked at each other for a long moment. The man's eyes sweeping over his bare chest, haggard face, and death grip upon his sword.

Finally the man spoke, "My name is Genesis."

Cloud frowned, trying to place the name. It was familiar, but he couldn't quite…

"I am one of the Guardian's of Gaia, as are you Cloud Strife."

"What?" Cloud asked in confusion.

The man tilted his head, his lips twisting in a smirk, but he offered no explanation. "The meteor has been broken down, but it has only slowed the inevitable. Ash now covers the sky, blocking out the sun. Life on this planet is doomed; it is only a matter of time."

"Then why did you do that! It would have been better to end it quickly, rather than letting humanity die a slow death of cold starvation without the sun!"

"Because, the meteor would have destroyed the planet, breaking it into pieces to float in space for eternity, and the Lifestream would have died, the souls lost. That was not the will of the goddess. This planet's time is over, humanity as you know it will die, but the Lifestream will endure. _She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting. _Do you not see, Guardian of the planet?"

Cloud was silent, not willing to admit how confused he really was. So the world was over, but not?

"The Promised Land awaits us, the life after death, the gift of the goddess."

"The afterlife? Will… will the other dead be there as well?" Cloud ventured, hating the hesitancy in his voice.

"Yes, all souls shall meet again in the Promised Land, all save one."

"Whose?"

"Yours."

Cloud was silent, frozen in horror. _NO! It was too much to bear, too much. How could fate be this cruel?_

"The planet has chosen you for the Guardian of her memories. The memory of her death shall live on in your mind. Your soul shall be sent on, to another world, a younger world where these things have yet to unfold. You will be our memory, and you will be the younger planet's savior, armed with the mightiest of weapons –knowledge. This other world has the same characters, the same events, but it is years in the past. You must change its future or it will meet the same fate as this world."

Cloud's voice was dead as he asked, "How? I cannot stop a meteor."

"No. But the planet can. The planet's spirit was drained. Jenova, the Mako reactors, they took her natural defenses from her, and left her open to attack. You must stop the decaying of the planet before it is too late."

"And if I say no? If I say I don't care anymore?"

"_My friend, the fates are cruel_…"

"I don't care! I am tired! I want…."

Genesis cut him off again, that calm steady voice clashing with his own growing panic. "_The wandering soul knows no rest_."

"NO! No, no, no, no! The fates can find somebody else to play with."

Genesis looked at him for a long moment, assessing him, before turning away, casting his eyes up to the hazy heavens. There were no stars to see, no light flickering through the thick clouds now swamping the atmosphere. Genesis's voice was powerful, threaded with some hidden emotion, some forgotten memory:

"_There is no hate, only joy, for you are beloved by the goddess_

_Hero of the dawn, healer of worlds, dreams of the marrow hath the shattered soul_

_Pride is lost_

_Wings stripped away, the end if nigh_

_There are no dreams, no honor remains_

_The arrow has left the bow of the goddess_

_My soul, corrupted by vengeance_

_Hath endured torment to find the end of the journey_

_In my own salvation and your eternal slumber."_

It was frightening how deeply those scattered lines touched Cloud's soul. They overwhelmed him with a deep sense of sorrow and regret. He knew these feels were pouring out of this man, Genesis, as he fed them into the words, his eyes distant, seeing something only he could grasp. And suddenly Cloud understood. Genesis was telling him of his own sins. What they were Cloud didn't know, but it did not matter, what mattered was the regret, the burning desire to relive, to undo the mistakes of a life. That was an emotion Cloud was more than familiar with. Vincent's face flickered before his eyes, twisted in a rare display of the crippling emotion Cloud had seen only a handful of times over the years_. To undo one's mistakes, to live again…_

"I understand." Cloud's voice split the silence. It was no longer quite so dead.

Hope was something he was no longer familiar with. Thoughts of the future were shied away from, but not now. Now he understood and accepted the burden and blessing offered. The Guardian of the planet's memories. The task of saving this younger planet. The chance to undo the mistakes of his past. To relive this broken life. He did not look for happiness in his future; he had long given up hope of that, but something else, maybe rest? Maybe forgiveness? Lay ahead, if only he could grasp it. If only he could succeed. His life was a riddled patchwork of failures, of weakness, of mistakes and the struggle to correct those blunders. Failure was always a high possibility for Cloud Strife, but there was a chance. A chance…

"_I offer thee this silent sacrifice." _


	2. Chapter 2

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 2

The first thing to reach through the darkness encompassing Cloud's brain was the beeping. It was not a pleasant sound to awaken to. It brought flashes of needles, thin knifes cutting, poking, blood, green haze, and mocking laughter that always seemed to float to close to insanity. He was aware of the smell, that sterile hospital smell he hated, a split second before his eyes snapped open in panic. The heart monitor he was attached too began beeping faster, frantically to match his skyrocketing pulse.

Wide blue eyes swept around the tiny curtained space about him, separating him from what he assumed was more beds and rooms full of patients and the dreaded doctors. Cloud forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths and assessing his condition. His mind slowed from the desperate flight status it had entered the moment he heard the heart monitors, and memories came rushing back, causing his breath to hitch. Vincent. Meteor. Genesis. Guardian.

Cloud let out a heavy sigh, his head falling back on the padded white bed. Gone. They were gone forever. He would never see any of them again. Vincent, Denzel, Tifa, Marlene, no one. He would never meet Zack or Aeris in the Lifestream. The people he loved, who knew him better then he knew himself, were gone forever.

If Genesis was right, then there would be a Zack here. He could see Aeris's leafy green eyes again, he could spend hours in silence beside Vincent, but how could it ever be the same? They weren't the people he left behind, those souls were gone forever. But what choice was there? None. He had to do this. He was the living memory of an entire planet. He carried a world within him. But maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to be alone here. Zack may not be the same Zack Cloud had spent all those long years with, struggling for survival in that pit of hell, but there must be a Zack here, somewhere, or at least there might be one day….

Cloud was snapped back to the present with the pressing question of where the hell he was, and more importantly _when_ he was. He did a quick scan of his person. His ribs felt bruised, it was painful to breath, but he didn't think they were broken. He had a few dark marks on his arms. His fingers slid over his face, feeling smooth skin and slightly unfamiliar features, but no swelling. His face was not as angular as it would become with maturity.

His senses were dulled, and it was a shock to realize that for the first time in twenty years his body was devoid of mako. He probed deeper, searching out that dark diseased part of his mind that had never completely left him. Jenova. But she wasn't there. It was as if he had never been injected with her black cells, over and over again, until he had lost his mind, and was little more than a vegetable for Zack to crate around –a burden.

The clack of heels upon floor tiles, alerted him to an approaching female. He lay very still, closing his eyes, and forcing his heartbeat to steady out. He was not ready to interact with the people on this new planet. His mind was still too confused, there were too many question, too many potential slips.

He felt the soft breeze of a curtain being pulled aside, causing the fine hairs on his arm to tingle. The clicking came closer, and without opening his eyes he estimated the woman had stopped at the foot of his hospital bed. There was a shuffling of papers, and then a distracted voice.

"Hum, cadet Strife… another fight I see." Cloud did not know if the woman had discovered his consciousness, but he didn't think so. He continued to feign sleep, and keep his ears alert for any information he could scrape from her.

"Bruised ribs, concussion," a sigh, "This is the third time this month, Strife. " She let out a disapproving sound, "Fighting won't get you into SOLDIER young man…. Probably be awake in a few hours…" the woman trailed off. The sound of a quickly scribbling pen, and shifting papers, before the clicking of heels came again, and Cloud felt the woman leave.

He lay absorbing the information, for a moment. It seemed he was in the SOLDIER training program, but when? Somehow Cloud had thought he would have been thrown further into the past than this, perhaps before he was born.

The idea of not having his strong body had not even occurred to him. He let out a sigh. But he had something more valuable than all the mako enhancements in the world -information. Knowledge is power. And he had more knowledge then he could possible want. There was so much he just wished he could forget. No, not forget. If he forgot then it would be as if it had never happened, as if that other world –his world—had never existed.

Cautiously he pushed himself up on the bed, feeling a wave of dizziness, but forcing it down. He may not be Cloud Strife, world savor, strongest man on the planet, but he was no weak cadet either. He pushed the pain aside, pulling on years of training, and swung his legs over the bed.

He grimaced as cool air met his backside. _Damn hospital gowns._ Sapphire eyes quickly picked out a neatly folded Shinra cadet uniform and boots. Cloud wasted no time shedding the disgusting hospital attire, and pulling on the long forgotten uniform. His body felt strange, sluggish and weak, but he refused to let these facts pull him into dark thoughts. Bodies changed, it was the mind that mattered.

Cloud peeked through the hanging curtain, his eyes quickly flying about the room, assessing. There were no medical staff in sight. Almost all the beds were empty, the curtains pulled back to reveal neatly tidied beds. Those that were occupied were hidden behind curtains. Cloud slipped through the concealing cloth. He adopted a confident but silent dread as he quickly made his way towards the exit, or at least what he hoped was the exit.

He passed an open door, and caught the flash of white coats out of the corner of his eye, but forced his head not to turn. He rounded a corner and caught sight of the lobby. At a reception desk sat a young woman engrossed in a conversation with a SOLDIER Third, who was blatantly flirting with her. Cloud ceased his chance and casually walked past the pair and though the door.

A long hallway and two elevators greeted him. He hesitated only a moment before easily slipping into one of the elevators going down.

Cloud had few clear memories from his time as a cadet. But he was familiar with the layout of the Shinra building, some parts more than others. He had snuck around it often enough on AVALANCHE missions, and after Meteor when the place was little more than a skeletal ruin.

The doors were already closing behind Cloud before he realized his mistake. Somehow he forced his feet to carry him forward, and he shuffled his small body into the corner, trying to tear his eyes off the two SOLDIERs sharing the elevator with him.

His eyes roved over raven spikes, and laughing blue eyes. The Second class was wearing a painfully familiar grin as he looked up at the older SOLDIER. Cloud gulped down the tight knot in his stomach when he saw the Buster Sword strapped to the older SOLDIER's back.

Cloud pushed down Zack's lingering memories, and bit his tongue to keep from crying out. His nails dug into his hands as he struggled against the impulse to reach out. Zack. It was _Zack_, staining close enough to touch, so close the familiar musky sent of him was wafting over Cloud. And if this wasn't enough to content with, the long silent part of Cloud that was Zack was screaming at him to throw himself at Angeal. Telling him it was _Angeal, _the man he had been forced to kill. Angeal, his mentor, his friend.

Cloud squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of them another moment, but the excited voice of Zack reached out to him, engulfing him in painful memories.

"…Angeal are you serious? I can't wait! Oh man!" Zack's fist pumped excitedly in the air. "When do we leave?"

Angeal raised a dark eyebrow at his student's overwhelming excitement. "Now. The transport is already waiting. You're lucky I didn't leave you behind. You know better than getting into out of control sparring matches. He was a Third class; you could have seriously injured him, Zack." He reprimanded.

Zack's brilliant smile drooped under his mentor's criticism, but he quickly defended himself. "But it was Kunsel, he's good enough to be Second class, and besides we would have stopped if I thought he was in real danger!"

Angeal continued to give his student a disapproving look, but Zack quickly bounced back to his original excitement, eagerly chattering on about their upcoming mission. Cloud couldn't help himself; he soaked up every word like they were lost gems, which in a way they were to him. He hadn't even realized how starved he had been for Zack; just his familiar voice was enough to make Cloud's heart clench.

This Zack was not the same Zack he remembered though. Cloud knew the loss of his mentor, Angeal, had played the largest role in maturing the young SOLDIER into the more serious and focused First class Cloud remembered. Zack would always have that boyish grin, his steadfast optimism in the face of utter hopelessness. He would always be overflowing with life, his tall strong body not even big enough to contain his heart. He would always be Zack. Not even four years in Hojo's labs, and another one spent in loneliness, being hunted down like an animal with only a comatose Cloud for company, could beat the pure Zackness out of Zack.

This younger Zack resembled a puppy more than ever, and it was not hard to see why the nickname stuck.

Cloud's bright blue eyes had peeked open again, unwilling to let this waking-dream slip by him. It was over all too soon, the metal doors opening with a ding. Angeal and Zack were already striding away, having given Cloud no more than a courtesy glance. He was only a cadet after all –a nobody.

Cloud's mind, honed from years of constant vigilance, unconsciously mapped out the sharply lit lobby the elevator had stopped at. His eyes darted to the exits, searching for threats, filing all away even as his thoughts stay focused on the retreating pair.

A desperate need surged through Cloud. He couldn't let them out of his sight. Couldn't let Zack slip away, what if this was all a dream? What if he never had another chance to map those finally sculpted features? What if he never saw midnight spikes fluttering about that tan face again?

Recklessly Cloud plowed after them. He had no idea what day or even year it was. He only had a hazy idea of where he was. He was a nobody cadet wandering Shinra halls, but none of that mattered right now. All that mattered was keeping Zack's black head in view, hearing the faint threads of Zack's ceaseless enthusiasm as he talked and talked, barely seeming to spare a moment to breathe.

The two SOLDIERs passed the main doors of the Shinra building, oblivious of their little stalker. Cloud darted easily between suited Shinra employees and bustling army regulars, all intent on going somewhere. If there was one thing Cloud had learned from Vincent, it was how to track a person without them knowing. Well, Cloud had learned more than that, he mused, but hacking and lock picking, or other highly Turkish activities, would probably not be needed for following the two SOLDIERs.

A covered truck was waiting for the SOLDIERs when they broke out of the pressing bodies. The crowds parted before the two men, one of whom had a massive sword strapped to his back. Cloud caught the glimpse of army rifles, and the shadowy outline of bodies where the canvas flap was peeled back to let in some much needed air. The truck was full of troopers. It appeared whatever mission Angeal and Zack were embarking on was ranked as at least mildly dangerous. Cloud hoped there were some more SOLDIERs packed into the truck, if this was the case.

He couldn't help the pulsing _need_ to protect Zack. He was tempted to rush over and pull the Second class back as he jumped gracefully into the truck, Angeal right behind. But that would have been idiotic. Zack could take care of himself, far better than Cloud could with the body of a cadet, warrior mind or no. But the instinct was still there, pounding away and threatening him with a massive headache as he watched the transport pull off down the long drive. The metal gates closed behind it, locking the rest of Midgar out.

Cloud's eyes scanned the once familiar guard posts. He remembered the electric enforced fence, dotted with patrolling troops, but only as a broken mess.

Cloud let out a heavy sigh, hating these huge gaps in memory. He wondered how many slips he was going to make before the day was out. His eyes turned back to the looming Shinra building, standing at his back. It was impressive in its height, towering up into the gloomy skies. But there was nothing beautiful or majestic about it. It was ugly steel. A reminder of Shinra's power over the world. As Cloud's eyes rose, scanning floor upon floor, up up until he was gazing at what should have been a glorious blue sky, he was reminded again of his purpose here. Mako reactors. Jenova. The planet -dying.

Cloud could almost feel the poison filling his lunges as he gulped in Midgar's polluted air. He felt dirty. Somehow violated from breathing in the filth. Cloud turned away, his gaze fixing upon the shut gates. He was overwhelmed with the sudden need to get out. He did not think he could bare another minute in this place, overwhelmed by memories and pressing duties. He needed to escape, and he knew just where he wanted to escape too.

The image of vibrant flowers, gentle beams of sun light lacing through brown locks, their rays catching in a pink ribbon, assaulted him. Before he knew it he was marching towards the gates with no other thought but Aeris pounding through his head. Surprisingly the guards made no move to stop him, letting him slip out the pedestrian gate without comment. It seemed getting out was not the hard part. Cloud quickly dug around his pockets, he still had enough sense to know how much more difficult the return passage would be without his identification card.

His fingers soon brushed across the smooth plastic and he pulled it out, along with a thin leather wallet he had discovered. The picture was of a wide-eyed boy. There was nothing of the man Cloud Strife in the scared face looking back at him. He felt sick. He may have few memories of his cadet days, but they were enough to summarize that he had indeed been a scarred little boy in way over his head. It wasn't until he had completely failed the SOLDIER exams and been cast off into the regulation army that Cloud had finally grown up, if only a little. At least that was the picture he got from Zack's memories. Cloud had just as few from his days in the army.

Sighing, he quickly shoved the ID back into his pocket, not wanting to look at it anymore then necessary. He took a quick orientation of his wallet. He was also pathetically poor. Suppressing his sigh this time, Cloud snapped the wallet shut and made his way towards the train station, at least he had enough to get him to the Sector 5 slums and back.

By the time Cloud found himself standing before the immense double doors of Aeris church he was inwardly cursing his thoughtlessness. He should have slipped into civilian clothing, what kind of idiot walked around the slums, or any part of Midgar for that matter, in a Shinra uniform?

Cloud shook his head. What was done was done. He'd just have to make sure he didn't stay out passed dark or he would defiantly be seeing exactly what this body was capable of, and he hoped it was up to some hand-to-hand or his body would be found laying face down in a sewer come morning.

He pushed the morose thoughts aside, a strange nervous fluttering starting in his stomach as he slowly pushed open the doors.

There she was. Just as perfect as he remembered.

Aeris was kneeling amongst her flowers, a soft humming slipping past her coral lips. Cloud walked forward, mesmerized. He may not have ever been in love with Aeris, but that didn't mean he was not flooded with the warm comfort of her presence. She was the sister he never had, just as Zack was the older brother he had always longed for, but had never been granted.

Cloud watched her hands sink into rich black earth, skillfully working it around a new shoot. He made sure his heavy boots announced his presence as he moved forward, not wanting to startle her. Her head tilted up, green eyes, as fresh as a baby leaf, sweep up to meet his intense sapphire gaze. A gentle smile that was all Aeris, tugged at her lips, and for one heart stopping moment he thought that she had recognized him. The effect was staggering, and only years of self imposed control, stopped him from faltering. Happiness, and shattering joy and relief flooded through him, only to be wiped out the next moment.

"Hello, can I help you?" Her voice was gentle and open, but there was no note of recognition in it.

It was in that moment that reality crashed into Cloud's heart, and this time he could not stop the faltering of his step. She did not know him. He was just another stranger. No one knew him. He was alone, utterly alone in a world a ghosts and his own memories. Not even the sight of her alive and breathing, could take away the pain filling him at this moment. Would he ever be more than a stranger? Even if he spent the rest of this life on this planet he would never really belong, would he? He would always have his memories of his world. The one where he belong, well as much as Cloud Strife had ever belong anywhere. There would always be the gulf of a world between them.

Cloud's throat could not form words. It worked helplessly, and if he could remember how to cry he knew he would have felt wetness on his cheeks. He saw the worried look crinkling Aeris face. Her concerned voice broke upon him, but he couldn't answer, couldn't bear that look of worry on her face –worry for some unnamed stranger.

Cloud Strife, world saver, fucking hero, honed killing-machine, tuned and all but ran out of the church, away from Aeris, from that look of concern that was not really for _him_. He ran and kept running, not seeing the people and buildings flying passed him. It was all just a blur; his head was a world away, lost in his own pain and clenching emptiness. A part of his mind was telling him he was being pathetic. Screaming at him to suck it up. This was his life now, and really, did he deserve anything else? But this part could just go fuck itself. He was in pain, a pain so deep it was almost physical, and he didn't care if he was being weak and pathetic, if only he could make the emptiness go away. If only he could stop the claws that were shredding his already broken soul into bits.

Cloud's body could not run far enough to flee the past, though. Eventually his legs buckled under him, and he found himself sprawled gracelessly in the middle of a deserted street. It took Cloud a long moment before he could push aside the panic and despair, and regain some semblance of controlled breathing. When he finally found himself again he was appalled at his behavior. Had he completely lost his mind? Maybe.

Blue eyes quickly darted about him, his instincts screaming at his thoughtlessness. Danger. He was unarmed, wearing the hated Shinra insignia, and completely lost in Midgar's slums. Cloud felt like smacking his head, but had too much control to let such a sign of frustration show.

Slowly he got to his feet, his legs were a bit shaky from the run, but he pushed the burning pain of exhausted muscles aside, and forced himself to walk confidently, pulling his shoulders back and keeping all his senses alert.

The sun must be setting, Cloud reasoned, as he took in the darker gloom of the polluted skies. It would only get blacker with each passing minute, he didn't have much time. The streets were lit only from the spiraling housing complexes on both sides of the narrow street. The slums did not have the luxury of Mako energy; instead its inhabitants had to rely on more antique forms of energy. Flames from candles and burning wood flickered across pulled shades. A fire was lit in a nearby metal garbage bin. Some men were gathered around it, rubbing their hands over the heat as they passed around something in a paper sack –no doubt liquor. Cloud caught the scent of herbal smoke as well, laced with something more dangerous, as one of the men took a long pull from a cigarette.

Cloud did not meet any of their eyes, keeping his head forward, and his gate steady, not wishing to pull their attention to the lone youth in their mists. Cloud was sure he could take the men if it came to a fight, but it was a risk he didn't need to take. Knifes, or worse a gun, could be hiding in their loose clothing.

Unfortunately, like the rest of this day, luck was not with Cloud. He saw one of the men's eyes lighting upon him, from the corner of his eye. They had spotted him, and marked him as potential prey. Cloud could feel three sets of eyes running over him, noting his slight build, and youthful face, no doubt seeing the obvious Shinra uniform as well. They had marked him.

Cloud refused to break into a run, unwilling to draw more unwanted attention, what came came. He had the advantage of knowing their intention before they stuck, and he didn't intent to give them the benefit of surprise. His senses tingled, and he knew they were following. Quickly he dashed into a side alley with deeper darkness. He could hear their shouts as they raced forward to catch their prey. His eyes darted about, urgently looking for some weapon. A broken beer bottle caught his eye, and he snapped it up just as the men rounded the corner.

The lead man let a nasty smirk twist his feature when he saw Cloud, apparently trapped in the narrow alley.

"Well well, what have we here?" The man's teeth were rotting, and Cloud could just image the stench of his breath. "You're a long way from home boy. Don't you belong on a Shinra leash?"

One of the other men let out a cruel chuckle, but Cloud kept his face impassive as they stalked closer.

"Pretty little thing," the man continued, "Maybe he's looking for a new master, hum?" He asked his companion, one of them now leering at Cloud, his eyes roving hungrily over the youthful body.

"Come here pretty," the man called, reaching out to grab Cloud's arm.

Cloud's hand shot out, plunging the broken bottle into the man's throat before the man could even cry out. Blood spurted over Cloud's face as the man fell limply to the ground, a harsh gurgling sound coming from his throat as he choked to death.

The two other men were shocked still for one moment, enough for Cloud to lunge himself at one of them. Cloud's booted foot connected with one of the man's chests, sending him crashing into the alley wall. The other man tried to make a grab for Cloud, but he was too fast, and slithered passed the clenching fists as he leapt into the air, sending a powerful kick at the man's head. The crack of his boot hitting the man's scull, echoed down the alley, and the man fell lifelessly to the ground, his neck snapped. The last man had recovered from the first kick, and now was trying to make a run for it, sending Cloud a terrified look over his shoulder as he ran. Cloud had fallen deep into the familiar killing mode though, and he didn't even think before throwing himself at the man, his hands wrapping around a thick throat. It was over in minutes, the man a lifeless mass in Cloud's arms, choked to death.

Cloud stared at the three copses. Murderer. He had long since lost count of how many lives he had taken. Too many. Their faces blending together into nothingness, their deaths not even touching him, perhaps that was the worst part of it –the numbness. He didn't have time to dwell on this now though. He needed to get out of the slums, and back up to the Shinra building. He'd be lucky if they let him in at this hour.

Quickly he searched the men, and came up lucky. Cloud shoved the pilfered knife under his shirt; if he ran across more trouble tonight he'd be more prepared. Without another glance at the men who would have raped him, and probably killed him after, he slipped out of the alley and back down the silent street.

An hour later he was standing at the gates to the Shinra building, trying to convince the night guards to let him in.

"Its' after hours," the guard was saying, "you need a night pass to get back in. You'll just have to wait until morning."

That wasn't good enough, though. Cloud couldn't remember when training started in the morning, but he was pretty sure he would already be in some sort of punishment for not only sneaking out of the hospital, but the compound as well.

"Please," Cloud adopted his most pathetic, scared cadet eyes. It would be better if the guards thought he was a nobody who couldn't survive a night on his own. "I have training tomorrow and if I am late the Sarg with flay my ass…" no sign of pity yet, "I was only late because some guys jumped me, see look, I got knocked out!" Cloud shoved aside some golden spikes, displaying the strategically smeared blood. It wasn't his, and maybe he should feel a bit disgusted by using a man's dying blood to convince the guards to let him in, but Cloud just shoved that thought aside.

One of the guards leaned forward, curiously now sparked. "That doesn't look pretty," hesitation, "Well… I suppose we'll let you in this time, but make sure it doesn't happen again cadet."

"Yes sir," Cloud snapped a salute before slipping into the now darkened compound.

By the time Cloud had shed his dirty uniform and collapsed onto his bed, he was exhausted. Some of the other boys were still up, working on late homework or just jacking around, but Cloud ignored them. He had gotten some curious looks, but none of them had questioned him, for which he was relieved. He couldn't remember any of their names, and their faces had not even triggered a hazy memory. He sighed into his pillow. Well, if they had not spoken to him he could only assume they weren't friends, and leave it at that.

For all Cloud's exhaustion though, his mind was too full to let him drop into the much needed rest. The sounds of twenty other cadets, sleeping, jesting softly, or the quite rusting of papers, was filling his ears. His body refused to relax in such a crowded room.

Cloud found his mind drifting back to the peaceful little house Vincent and he had rented for the week. They hadn't seen each other in several months. Vincent had been off doing, well, Vincenty stuff, and Cloud had finished a visit to Tifa and the kids.

Cloud closed his eyes as he savored the memory of that last visit. Denzel had challenged him to a race on their bikes, it had been exhilarating, and Cloud felt a tiny smile tugging at his lips with the memory. Of course Cloud had won; he was riding Fenrir after all. He had designed his bike himself, and for all Denzel's begging he wasn't going to spill the secret to Fenrir's unchallengeable speed.

Vincent's face broke through the happy memory. Vincent. His heart clenched as he remembered that last look they had shared. He wished he had had the courage to let his friend know, with words, how much his friendship had meant to Cloud. He just hoped that Vincent knew it, even without the words. Were they happy there, in the Promised Land? Did Vincent finally have the change to meet his son? What was Sephiroth like now? He hoped he was healed and whole, well as much as he could be. Cloud doubted Sephiroth or Vincent would even be truly healed, just like him, there were some hurts that went too deep.

Cloud ached to see his friends again, but the brief glimpse of Zack and Aeris today had been torture. So close and yet…. He wondered what Vincent would say if Cloud were to release him from his coffin now. If Cloud could tell anyone about his past he knew it would be Vincent. But Vincent was in Nibelheim, and there was no way Cloud would be able to reach his friend, not unless he wanted to get himself kicked out of the SOLDIER program for missing classes. Nibelheim was too far away, but was SOLDIER worth it?

Cloud frowned as he contemplated his options for the first time since waking up in this new world. He was in SOLDIER, and by the looks of it, given Zack's statue as Second class, he still must have quite awhile before the Nibelheim incident. His main goals were destroying Jenvoa and somehow managing to shut down the Mako reactors before too much of the planet's strength was stolen. But how to do either of those things, Cloud wasn't sure. Jenova wasn't exactly easy to kill, she had a talent for survival, and Cloud didn't even know where to find her! He somehow doubted he would find her waiting in the Nibelheim reactor, he suspected Hojo had placed her there just before the mission. He'd wanted her to take over Sephiroth's mind, Hojo had always wanted that. And Shinra? How was he, a little cadet with no Mako, supposed to stop Shinra, the most powerful force on earth?

Cloud suppressed a groan. It looked like he had a lot of planning ahead of him, and plenty of questions that needed answers he didn't have yet. Cloud tried to force out all the swirling thoughts and just get some sleep. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring. No doubt a massive headache. He was really missing the affects of Mako right about now.

Cloud concentrated on clearing his mind. He hoped he wouldn't spend the next few hours locked in a memory of Mako and needles. He really didn't need to wake up with a bloody lip and drenched in sweat.


	3. Chapter 3

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 3

Cloud jerked awake, nearly falling out of the unfamiliar narrow bed. Damp sheets were tangled about him, and his hand was automatically reaching for his old knife as he blinked away the hated green haze and scanned the unfamiliar room in near panic. Where the hell was he? As the effect of the nightmare wore off, his memories of yesterday flooded in. The cadet dorms.

He was relieved he appeared to be the only one awake yet; he didn't need the others witnessing his morning panic, his _weakness_. He slowly settled his feet on the floor. It had been mere luck he had found his bunk last night. It had been a process of elimination; the only empty bed had to be his.

Cloud scanned the face of the boy sleeping to his right. Dirty blond hair set in a soft face. Cloud didn't have a clue who he was. He looked to his left, black hair, beefy build, and still no name. Cloud stood, stretching stiff muscles before pulling on his spare uniform. He was lucky they were given two since his other was coated in grim and probably a little blood. He snatched up the dirty uniform, quickly spotting two other rooms at the end of the long hall.

The first one turned out to be the bathroom complete with communal showers; he had a vague flash of memory. He remembered standing under one of the showers, his eyes firmly closed so he couldn't see the naked boys about him. His hands were buried in his soapy locks, trying not to cover himself even though he could feel the heat burning his cheeks at the exposure.

Cloud blinked away the stray thread of the past. He had been so young. Somehow this fact surprised him, though he knew it shouldn't. He was probably inhabiting a 15 year old body at the moment, and if he had been shy and self-conscious at that age who could blame him? He'd been a mountain boy, straight from a small town. He'd probably never even seen another boy without their shirt, let alone naked, before arriving in the dorms.

Cloud shook his head to free himself from the thoughts, no matter now. He may not be entirely comfortable stripping down before strangers, but he was confident he wouldn't be blushing scarlet at the experience. It was more the vulnerability of nakedness than anything else. Cloud was already feeling entirely too vulnerable without the familiar weight of First Tsurugi on his back.

He brushed the handle of the knife he'd stolen last night, now secured in his boot. At least there was that, and with examination he'd found it was a half decent blade. It gave some semblance of security, but only a little.

Cloud left the bathroom and made his way into the other room. It was a lounge. Complete with an old TV and a few beaten up couches. He noted some abused looking tables and chairs. Shinra wasn't about to waste good money on cadets. Cloud spotted another door just ahead.

Finally, he thought, as he walked into a cramped laundry room. There were only two washing machines with one unreliable looking dryer if the makeshift laundry line was anything to go by. Cloud tossed his soiled uniform in for a wash, eyeing the bland laundry detergent spilled all over the floor. With a precursory sniff, he dumped a clean scoopful in, hoping it wasn't anything that would cause a rash. He missed the Mako yet again. His fair skin had been annoyingly sensitive before Hojo's tinkering. But he wouldn't trade a blooming rash for all the Mako in the world if he had to pay the same price to get it.

Cloud settled back on his bed to wait. A glance at the only walk clock in the dorm said 5:10 am. Enough time to finish the wash cycle before training started? Well if he actually _knew_ when training started, that would be helpful.

He crouched down next to a small footlocker by his bed, hoping it was his. After a few minutes of work he'd picked the lock, not having the slightest clue what his combination had been, and peeked in. Several thick textbooks were jammed inside, and he pulled those out, setting them aside on the bed. A few balled up civilian clothes were nestled in the back along with a carved wooden box. He pulled the box out, curious about his younger self's trinkets.

The box had a carved wolf's head on the lid, and he smiled as he ran his fingers over it. At least there was something he hadn't lost of himself after Hojo. He forced his mind away from pursuing that path, and cracked open the lid. He picked up a crinkled picture of his mom; it felt strange seeing her face again. She was alive now, but Cloud wondered if he would even visit her, given the opportunity. She wasn't _his _mother; his mother had died years ago. Either way, they had never been particularly close; at least he didn't think so. Tifa had not been sure, since Cloud and she had never really been friends before AVALANCHE, but Cloud had little else to go on. His memories of his mother were as spotty as all his others.

He placed the picture aside, and pulled out a large stack of newspaper clippings. As he scanned the mass of articles and picture clippings, he actually felt his cheeks flushing, but it was mortification and horror heating them. They were all of Sephiroth. It was more than a little scary to see the evidence of his hero worship scattered before him. Had he really been this obsessed with the General? It appeared so, and a memory of a bright-eyed Cloud staring eagerly at Zack as he related a mission with Sephiroth, flashed across his mind. He wanted to groan. The memory had been Zack's and he wondered how the man had put up with such foolishness.

Cloud angrily snatched up the clippings, disgusted with his younger self. He couldn't even use youth as an excuse this time. Maybe if he had spent less time daydreaming about his idol, and more time practicing, he wouldn't have been such a failure. Zack might never have died if he had not been such a star struck idiot! Cloud dumped the clippings into the nearest trash bin without a second glance. Well, this time would be different. He _wouldn't_ be weak.

Cloud spent the next forty minutes going over his old homework assignments and familiarizing himself with his schedule as he waited for his laundry to finish. He had just finished draping his uniform over the drying line when the wakeup call sounded. They had fifteen minutes before breakfast, Physical Training started at 6:30 on the dot. They had a practical materia class after that, and then could look forward to an afternoon of mind numbing theory and tactics.

Cloud made his way back to his bunk, his eyes studying all the young faces about him intently, looking for someone familiar, nothing. Not a single name came, not one face looked even slightly familiar. Cloud didn't bother going back to his bed; instead he pushed out the doors, searching for the mess hall alone.

None of the cadets had offered him a good morning, or really even looked at him. Had he had no friends at all? What was wrong with his younger self? Had he really always been so closed lipped? Somehow he'd always blamed his anti-social behavior on Hojo, and his own tendency to cling to the past, but now it seemed he had always been like this. He wondered what Zack had ever seen in him. More than ever he felt completely unworthy of the SOLDIER's friendship, or his sacrifice. How he wished he could have taken Zack's place on that hill. Zack was not a failure; he wouldn't have let Sephiroth kill Aeris. He wouldn't have been weak like Cloud had been. Zack was a hero, not this pathetic person who had to keep fighting over and over again just to fix all the mistakes he'd made.

Cloud forced these thoughts away. Now was _not_ the time. He couldn't go back and change the past, but his Zack was safe in the Promised Land now, reunited with Aeris, and Angeal. Cloud let his mind wander down this path for a moment as he made his way towards the food line; it hadn't been too difficult to locate the cafeteria. Cloud wondered what Zack and Aeris were doing now, was the Promised Land like a rebirth? He hoped so. Then his thoughts shifted to this new Zack, the one he still needed to protect. Cloud silently swore he'd save him; he'd be stronger this time. He'd save them all.

Armed with a tray of what Shinra tried to pass as food, Cloud scanned the filling mess hall. He settled himself at an empty table in the back, and forced himself to start shoveling down the tasteless cereal. It turned out he had chosen the wrong seat though. Cloud noted the approaching cadets. His blue eyes scanned the sneering faces impassively. Calmly he began to rise, hoping to avoid what seemed to be an approaching confrontation. It appeared he not only had no allies here, but was a target for bullies. It would explain the nurse's comment about 'another fight.' Apparently visits to the infirmary were normal for cadet Strife.

Cloud had already noted the cameras; he hadn't spent years running with an ex-Turk for nothing. He had no intention of making a public scene, but he doubted the other boys would share his sense. He'd already pushed back his chair, automatically shifting his body into a defensive position, ready for an attack. The other cadets were not quite stupid enough to gang up on a smaller opponent in a public place though. Instead a dark haired boy, with sharp mean looking grey eyes, sent Cloud's food tray crashing to the ground.

"Strife," he sneered, "Next time I catch your skinny ass in my seat it'll be your face kissing the floor."

Cloud didn't even blink. He gave the four cadets a careless shrug and walked off. He was not going to make a fuss over a spilled breakfast, but he doubted it would be ending there. He'd have to keep his guard up.

Excitement beat its way into his blood. Danger. He pushed down the little smirk threatening his lips, as the familiar adrenaline kicked in. He'd have to control himself. He couldn't risk seriously injuring the other cadets. He knew how to kill, and after the incident in the slums, he knew this body was perfectly capable of doing it. It wasn't that Cloud had a raging bloodlust, but he had lost all horror at killing when he or an innocent was being threatened. He was addicted to the thrill of a fight. He'd missed the high he got from danger. The day had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting.

It turned out he needed ever spike of adrenaline the confrontation with the cadets had given him for Physical Training. It didn't take him long to discover how weak this body really was. It was frustrating, but he refused to let his growing anger with his own body, rule him. He pushed aside the screams of burning muscles, and forced his body to run faster. He refused to let his stringy arms buckle under the number of pushups. Body's changed, it was the mind that mattered, and Cloud's mind had years of honed discipline to draw upon. He forced the pain away. Still, he was far behind some of the other cadets, but at least he was not the weakest. He refused to dwell on how fast he'd been able to move jumped up on Mako, instead locking his eyes upon the lead cadets' backs as they trudged around the track over and over again.

Without Mako there was only so much a body could achieve, he had to be realistic. For the moment he'd focus on a reachable goal, being the best of their small group. He grimaced, though, when he thought about how long that might take.

It was a sweaty group of red-faced cadets that dragged themselves into their practical materia class two hours later. Their instructor was already waiting for them, and launched right into a long winded lecture on today's class without giving them a chance to catch their breaths. There wouldn't be time to rest in a real battle, Cloud knew, so he forced his head to spot spinning with exhaustion. He needed to know exactly what they were and weren't supposed to know at this point.

Cloud couldn't remember if he'd been any good with materia as a cadet. As an adult he'd been exceptional, even for a Mako enhanced body. His spirit had opened easily to the energy throbbing within the small colorful balls. He wondered if his visits to the lifestream had anything to do with it, probably.

The instructor sent them over to a waiting pile of low level materia and worn bracers. Cloud hung back, letting the other cadets pick through the piles before moving forward. He'd let his eyes casually scan the room, pleased to find no cameras in the training center. He picked up a tattered looking bracer and a bolt materia, easily slipping a fire up his sleeve. He wasn't about to walk around with only a small knife for protection.

He took his place in line, feeling out the materia in his hand. It was not as weak as he'd first suspected, which meant he had to be more careful. He had no idea if he could pull off any serious spells in this body, but it was always a possibility. He could feel his body's energy reaching out to the materia already, eager to wield it.

He glanced around at the other cadets. A few had little flames shooting up; others couldn't even manage a flicker. He suspected he had been one of the latter as a cadet. Carefully he reached out to the pulsing energy in his hand. Too much. A level 2 bolt shot out of his materia, and straight at the opposite wall. Cloud pulled back quickly, but the damage was done. He settled a shocked expression over his features as he cast a look towards his approaching instructor.

"Well done Strife," Sergeant Brancher exclaimed, an excited grin lighting up his heavy set face. "That was quite a spell you pulled."

Cloud forced his lips into a smile, hoping it came across as shy, but he wasn't sure if he'd succeeded. Brancher had clapped a hand on his back, eagerly coxing him to try again.

Cloud's eyes swept over the watching cadets, some were glancing at him with surprise, looking at him as if they'd never seen the little blond cadet before. The boys from breakfast, however, were glaring at him. One even gave him a threatening gesture behind the Sergeant's back, but Cloud just ignored them. Not affected by their threats in the least. Did they really think he was scarred of them when he'd looked at Sephiroth down the end of Masamune more times then he wanted to remember?

Cloud was _not _going to think about that now, though. His brain quickly ran over his option. He could pretend it had been a sheer stroke of dumb luck, and go back to his unexemplary performance. Or he could cast another spell, hopefully a small one that wouldn't draw suspicion. As long as he kept his spells within a cadet's skill, albeit a skilled cadet's, he'd be fine. And what was wrong with excelling at something? His pride had taken a serious beating in Physical Training this morning, but more important than pride, it would be useful to have an excuse to practice a little magic. As long as he could control the spells Cloud didn't see anything wrong with producing another. In fact it would be expected. Once a person had found a way to reach into their inner energy and draw upon the current coursing through them, then half the work of spell casting was already accomplished.

Decision made, Cloud readied his materia again and slowly pulled up his body's energy. A conservative bolt shot out of his hand, longer than the other cadets had managed, but not too terribly shocking, Cloud didn't think.

Brancher showered more praise on his head, much to Cloud's displeasure, especially when it was accompanied by more back thumping. Cloud did not like being touched. He attributed this to the labs and the violations Hojo had performed on his body, but this distaste for random physical contact might well have gone back further. Hojo might have just increased an already natural aversion. Though that did not forgive what Hojo had done to his body one jot.

Cloud tore his mind away from these dangerous thoughts, and focused on controlling his spells for the rest of the class.

When the cadets shuffled over to discarded their bracers and materia for the day, Cloud simply 'forgot' to place the bolt materia with the others. No one noticed of course. Cloud wondered momentarily when he had gotten so good at stealing. Yuffie would have been proud. That thought threatened another downward spiral as he remembered her and Cid's tragic deaths. _Stop it!_ They were at peace now, and in this world Yuffie was still very much alive, though her country was being ravaged in a bloody war.

Cloud spent the rest of the day zoning out during his history and Military Tactics classes as he idly sketched designs for New Fenrir in his notebook. Well, he might have to wait a few years before he could afford a bike like Fenrir, but one day he promised himself he would rebuild his beloved bike. He'd need his sword back first, though, and with that thought Cloud's mind wandered down the familiar path of thinking about First Tsurugi. It was usually a pleasant use of time, but now it only reminded him of how far still had to work and how long he'd have to wait before he could afforded to recreate First Tsurugi. If he was ever able to, he thought dejectedly. His arms would not even be able to lift the massive sword at the moment, let alone wield it. One more reason to get into SOLDIER this time. The Mako treatments were really invaluable.  
...

Cloud scarfed down his dinner quickly, not willing to linger in the dining hall and risk running into the bullying cadets again. He needed to eat and gain more strength, even if the food tasted like rubber.

Cloud was the first to arrive back at their dorms after dinner, and he quickly retrieved his dried uniform before spreading his homework over his bed. It didn't take him long, even with his distracted thoughts during class. His brain was still that of a thirty-five year old hardened warrior's, he could handle basic Military tactics just fine.

By the time he'd finished and stashed his books back in his locker, the dorm was filling up. Cloud wanted to roll his eyes when all the whining about homework and bastard instructors started, but that would have been a sign of some emotion which was defiantly not something Cloud was used to letting slip. He had become slightly more comfortable over the years with his friends. He'd found himself smiling with the kids, and letting other small glimpses of his thoughts show on his face when he was around Tifa or Vincent, but it was still a long way from what Tifa would have termed 'normal' behavior.

Cloud pushed himself up off his bed when he found his thoughts wandering back into the past for the millionth time that day. But really what else could be expected? He was a brooder, like Vincent, and there wasn't enough to hold his attention yet in this new world. It was a good thing Cloud was used to spending time alone because he'd barely opened his mouth since arriving here. Cloud was suddenly overwhelmed with longing for Vincent's silent presence. He may be used to silence, but even when he had not been around friends in his world it had been a very long time since he had felt this alone.

Well if he didn't want to be alone he could always initiate a conversation. _Yeah right._

Cloud glanced over at the dirty blond head bent over a history text book. The boy's tongue was pinched between his lips in concentration as he struggled with their homework. If 15 year old Cloud had been a loner he was ten times worse now. With the exception of his friends, he simply didn't talk unless it was an emergency. Tifa used to say prying words out of Cloud's mouth was like trying to pull the cigarette out of Cid's –no easy task indeed.

Cloud eyed the blond teen again. He had no idea what to say, even if he felt like speaking. His practice with teenagers ended with Denzel, and the kid was not your average 17 year old. Cloud knew how to handle Denzel, or more accurately Denzel knew how to handle Cloud. Cloud hadn't felt the gap in age, but then Denzel had been forced to grow up far too quickly.

Listening to the conversations floating around him, Cloud had to admit he couldn't even begin to relate with his 'peers.' A group was gathered on a far bed looking at dirty magazines of busty women. Some others were still moaning over the homework assignments. Cloud could not see himself joining either group. He resigned himself to solitude, at least until he could meet Zack or find where the sensible cadets were hiding.

Shaking the depressing thoughts away, Cloud wove his way towards the bathroom. He needed a shower after Physical Training this morning, and would rather take one alone.

Cloud was just staring to unbuckle his pants, his shirt already stripped, when they entered. He was aware of their presence immediately, even with the tiled wall separating them. He had not survived as long as he had without killer instincts. His shirt was back on, and his body was ready in a defensive stance before the four bigger boys rounded the corner.

They sized each other up for a short moment, Cloud noted something like surprise in the boys' features when they found him waiting for them, but they didn't hesitate long when faced with the apparently weaker opponent.

The boy with mean grey eyes broke the silence. "You've got it coming Strife, after the way you broke Jeffery's nose, you little shit. It's time you learned your place." The boy sneered. "I think a little dunk in a toilet will teach you."

_Was he serious? They were going to give him a swirly?_

Cloud reasoned he could take a few dunks just fine, and would have just let them have their way to avoid a fight if it meant they would stop. It wasn't that he thought he couldn't take them, but rather he questioned if he could do it without causing serious harm. He wasn't going to risk getting thrown out of the program over some bullies. He was actually a little pleased with his younger self for not going down without a fight, it didn't quite make up for spending time cutting out Sephiroth articles, but it was something.

Cloud knew the boys would not be satisfied with a onetime swirly. This was obviously an ongoing problem, one he would have to deal with. While he loved the adrenaline kick of a fight, he could _not _risk injuring the boys. He had no friends, no one to back him up if it came to questioning. It would be four against one, and he would be the one being kicked out if not worse.

The grey eyed boy was done waiting though, and he signaled for the other three to close in on Cloud. Before they could jump him, Cloud launched himself at the closest kid. A big brown haired boy he'd learned was called Robinson. Cloud broke the boy's nose with a sickening crunch. The boy let out a cry of pain, but Cloud didn't spare him a glace before he was airborne, his kick connecting with another boy. The boy stumbled back, but Cloud didn't think he had done any permanent damage, perhaps a cracked rib, but nothing too serious.

As Cloud flipped himself around though, ready to charge the third boy, he caught the flash of metal. A knife had been drawn and the stakes upped. Cloud considered for only a split second before he was sprinting out of the bathroom. His quick retreat had startled his attackers, and Cloud was already escaping out the dorm door before they could decide if he was worth following or not.

Cloud resisted the urge to grind his teeth as he easily flitted from shadow to shadow, avoided cameras and guards easily. It was after hours now, and all cadets were supposed to be confined to their dorm rooms, but Cloud had no intention of returning until he was sure his attackers were asleep.

Inwardly he cursed the unresolved threat. He had hoped to put an end to the bullying tonight, but he wasn't willing to risk a fight with a weapon. Not that he couldn't win, he would have, but the knife had shown serious intent to harm. He might have been forced to cause more serious injury before he could claim the victory, and he wasn't willing to risk that, not for some bullies. He was man enough to know when he had to cut his losses and run from a fight. He was more than just a man with a sword. He had been a leader, though a reluctant one, he knew when he needed to call it off. He was not just cadet Strife now, he had the weight of this world on his shoulders and he was not going to fail this time just because his pride couldn't take the hit of running form a fight.

Satisfied he'd made the right decision, Cloud ruthlessness pushed the thoughts of future confrontations from his mind; he would deal with that when it came. Right now he needed to find something to do with himself for the next few hours. Slipping down the monitored Shinra hallways was not a problem for Cloud. He used the shadows to full advantaged, and played the camera's blind spots. He had infiltrated the Shinra building with AVALANCHE, and if he hadn't developed this set of skills enough in his months with a terrorist group, then ten years running around with one of the best Turks who had ever breathed, was probably enough to do the trick.

Cloud set himself the task of exploring more of the building. He was familiar with large portions of it, but the cadet and training areas had never been a high priority for secret missions. Cloud passed a computer lab, making a mental note to do some quick hacking tomorrow night. It wouldn't hurt to know some security codes; one never knew when one needed to make a quick getaway.

Cloud estimated he'd been wandering the main training facility for a good twenty minutes before his attention was caught by light filtering into the hallway from a training room. He was in the more secure rooms now, complete with expensive equipment meant for First and Second class SOLDIERs. He silently slinked towards the light, grateful for the glass window in the door, giving him a decent view inside.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight. He had forgotten how beautifully the man moved with that long sword in his hand. Pale hair flowing out behind him, black leather coat flapping with each gracefully movement as he danced with death. Cloud recognized the moves as some of the most advanced Kata ever developed, but he expected nothing else from Sephiroth.

As Cloud watched the man train, he wondered how he could have ever defeated such perfection. Every movement was perfect, nothing wasted. Power. Elegance. It was ungodly beautiful, and Cloud's palms itched to join in. He wondered what it would be like to match blades with Sephiroth without that taunting voice in his ear, without looking into insane pitiless eyes, without knowing defeat would mean death.

Cloud forced himself to turn away, it was useless to wish for something he'd never have, never be worthy of having. Why would Sephiroth ever want to spare with him? He was a nobody. Cloud was positive First Tsurugi had never looked as good in his hands as Masamune looked in Sephiroth's. How the hell had he managed to defeat that? Not by any merit of his own. It had been Zack's skill and Hojo's experiments, really. Cloud Strife had not even managed to make it into SOLDIER, let alone become the equal of a man with Sephiroth's skill.

Cloud swore silently to himself as he made his way back towards the cadet dorms, that he would save Sephiroth from himself. This time would be different. Sephiroth deserved some piece of happiness in this life after everything Hojo had done to him. Even if Cloud never found his place in this world, at least he would have the knowledge that he had saved it for the others. For Sephiroth, Zack, Aeris, Vincent, he would not fail this time. He couldn't.

...

The next morning was thankfully uneventful. Cloud was able to eat his breakfast in peace, only receiving death glares from his attackers. Robinson had a large white bandage framing his nose but Cloud refused to let himself smirk in satisfaction. He may have won that battle, well more of a strategic retreat, but the war was far from over judging by the looks he was getting.

Physical Training was grueling again, but Cloud stubbornly refused to crumble under the pain. He concentrated on sticking with the pack and doing extra warm down and stretches.

They had sword practice today, and Cloud felt a bubble of anticipation welling up as the cadets shuffled into the training room. Cloud hoped his body would be able to hold up under the further strain from two hours of swinging a practice sword around. His mind was actively repressing the natural excitement he always received from holding a weapon. Now was not the time for showing off, even if his body could take the strain. He had to be caution. There was no way he would be able to convince anyone he didn't at least know the basics of sword play. But Cloud refused to let himself go. He would restrict his moves to beginner's level.

With this resolve Cloud walked with the other cadets over to the rows of practice swords. They were little more than wooden sticks, but Cloud suppressed his rising disgust and lined up with the others.

Their instructor was dressed in dark purple declaring his statues as a SOLDIER Second. Cloud remembered Zack telling him stories about the days when he used to be an instructor. Cloud quickly halted the flood of memories since they were accompanied by the sickening smell of a lab. All Seconds were given a stint at teaching the new recruits. Zack had been an exceptional teacher, and continued on teaching as a First just as his mentor Angeal had done.

Cloud recognized the curly bronze hair and hazel eyes of the Second immediately, though he had no memories of his own to accompany the exotic almond shaped eyes. A welcoming smile was tugging at Kunsel's lips as he surveyed the cadets lined up before him.

"Hello, I am SOLDIER Second class Kunsel," the man introduced himself. Cloud was momentarily confused. Why was the SOLDIER treating this like his first class, and when had Kunsel become a Second class when Zack had told Angeal he was Third?

Cloud didn't have to wait for an answer though as Kunsel continued his short speech. "This is my first time teaching you, as you know. Your regular instructor SOLDIER Zack Fair is away on a mission, so I will be picking up his classes this week. Any questions?"

_Zack_. Zack was their regular teacher! Cloud could feel his pulse skyrocketing. Why hadn't he remembered this? Surely he would have remembered Zack had been his sword instructor. He desperately searched his memories, but they remained blank.

A flash of Zack's memories came unbidden to his mind. _The room was packed with twenty young faces, all swinging crude swords as Zack called out the count. Zack walked slowing around the room, correcting a stance here, a hand there. A small cadet with yellow spikes sticking out all over was struggling to fend off the bigger cadet he was matched with. What was the kid's name? Strife? Poor kid would never make it into SOLDIER. _

Cloud shook away the memory, trying to concentrate on what Kunsel was saying and not the tightening of his chest. Zack had been his instructor, why had he never said anything? Perhaps he'd just forgotten the undersized cadet who would never make a SOLDIER. Cloud gripped his sword tighter, refusing to give in to _those_ thoughts now.

The cadets were pairing up already, and Cloud forcefully brought his mind back to the present. He saw the grey eyed bully making his way over, a cruel look in his eyes. Cloud turned to a chestnut haired boy next to him.

"Want to spare?" The boy barely spared Cloud a glance.

"I want _some_ sort of challenge." He said, brushing passed Cloud.

_Was I really _that_ bad_? Probably.

The bully had reached him, and with no other option Cloud took his stance. He'd rather have a quiet match with an uninterested opponent then one spoiling for a fight. He just needed to keep it simple and unnoteworthy, but as the other boy charged him Cloud realized that was going to be easier said than done.

The swoosh of air sliding over the wooden blades, the intensity of the boys hate shinning in his eyes, the familiar, intoxicating dance his body automatically picked back up, made caution a thousand times harder. Cloud knew his body was not moving with the fluidity he was used too, he could feel his arm shaking as they came up to meet the boy's thrusts, but still he was holding his own easily.

The other boy could not hide the surprise from his face as he came at Cloud over and over again only to be met with controlled parries. But the surprise quickly turned to growing anger as Cloud continued to hold the boy at bay.

Cloud knew he couldn't hold out much longer, his body was too weak to take the strain. But he would be damned if he let this little snot beat him. _Nothing flashy_, his mind was screaming at him, and he was lucky his body was too weak to perform anything more than the basics. Cloud refused to let himself go and fall back on instincts and reactions. He couldn't let the heat of the fight roll over him, he couldn't afford to rely on instincts because those instincts were honed to maim and kill. He doubted he could kill the other boy with a wooden sword without some serious strength behind a hit, but still, one never knew.

Cloud was tiring quickly, and switched from defensive to aggressive. Even with this weaker clumsier body, he was pleased to see he had not completely lost his touch. He certainly couldn't take down a SOLDIER, but he had the bully looking up at him from the tip of his sword point only a few minutes later.

"Yield," Cloud ordered in a cool voice, forcing himself to breath evenly even with the sweat trickling down his brow.

The boy sneered at him, and Cloud wondered for a moment if he was going to attack him again, but then Kunsel was there. "Nice fight." The hazel eyes, spiked with the intense glow of Mako, flickered over Cloud, assessing.

Cloud lowered his sword, and forced himself not to fidget under the SOLDIER's appraisal. Cloud hated attention. "What's your name cadet?" Kunsel asked.

"Strife sir, Cloud Strife." Cloud held Kunsel's gaze, not letting any of his inner discomfort show.

Kunsel raised a brow slightly, seeing the little cadet's cool stare. The kid had some steel in there. He wondered why Zack had never mentioned this one. Usually the other SOLDIER would go on and on about most any topic, Angeal being the most common, but Kunsel had certainly heard plenty about Zack's class. This Strife kid was a natural. It was there for even a relatively unpracticed eye to see. The way he held his sword, his stance, the cool control, the kid was good. Kunsel expected Strife to be joining the SOLDIER Third's after the next exam in six months. He'd keep an eye out for the kid, and ask Zack about him when he got back.

"Good fight cadet Strife. You need to work on your stamina and strength, but you have the skills down."

He offered Strife a pleased smile, but strangely the boy didn't smile back or flush under the praise of his instructor. The kid just stood there, those strangely mature blue eyes staring back at him_. The kid was a strange one; he'd defiantly have to ask Zack about him. _

….

Cloud was treated to a number of cutting remarks from the other cadets after their sword training class where Kunsel had singled him out for praise. Cloud couldn't be angry at the Second though, he was too close to a long lost friend. This was one of the things Cloud hated most about having Zack's memories. He'd never met Kunsel before today, and yet it was like he'd known the man for years. Cloud felt like he was somehow violating Kunsel by having these memories of him. He felt the same way about Zack's memories of Sephiroth sometimes. It was like he was spying on something private, something not meant for him when he glimpsed snatches of Zack's memories. It felt _wrong_, but try as he might he couldn't banish the memories all together, sometimes he wondered if he even wanted to.

As Cloud picked up his Battle Theory textbook, another one of the cadets made a snide remark at his back. It was more than just his usual tormentors now, but then he supposed he should have expected it. He had made himself a target by drawing attention in class. There were only a limited number of slots for SOLDIER. Cloud couldn't remember how many cadets were accepted after the exam, but probably less than a fourth of their number. There were two other dorms of twenty cadets, but each dorm had classes only with each other, only seeing the other cadets for meal times.

To pass the SOLDIER exam you were competing against your fellow cadets as much as with the obstacle set before you. It only made sense that there would be some nasty competition. Cloud had pulled himself into the competition with his rise in materia, and this new attention in sword training.

Cloud just ignored the remark, and slipped out of the dorm. He was, however, a little disturbed at the nature the remarks were taking. They were mostly sexual, pairing him with Kunsel. The cadets seemed to think Cloud would be the most shaken by the suggestion that he was spreading his legs for favors. Well, they were probably right there, but he wasn't about to let them see that it bothered him.

He was surprised at how quickly the sexual comments had started, though. How could he have possibly known Kunsel before today? But then, he didn't suppose the other cadets were really using their heads at this point. Cloud just hoped none of it would get back to Kunsel, he was a good man, but a memory of Zack's told him Kunsel might be a little sensitive on this topic. The SOLDIER's more feminine looks had earned him unwanted attention before. Cloud cursed these stolen memories again. What right did he have to know something so private about Kunsel?

Kunsel had only just made Second too, it would be a shame if that achievement was tarnished by rumors. But perhaps this was just the usually routine whenever a cadet started to poke his head up too high from the group.

Cloud darted into the cadets' public computer lab, complete with all of two antique desktops. Well, they would do. He still had a half-hour before curfew, plenty of time to hack into the Shinra mainframe, pickup a few security codes, and be out without a trace.

….

Cloud had already sent a thank-you out to Vincent today, but he sent another for good measure as his fingers flew over the key pad to a small training room. The green light flashed, and Cloud slipped in, quietly shutting the door behind him.

It was fun acting the Turk sometimes. He quickly squelched that thought as images of Vincent flipped through his lonely mind. No, he was not going to think about Vincent now.

Cloud settled himself on a hard bench and pulled out his homework. He'd already decided to spend as little time in the dorms as possible. He liked the feel of this training room, it was small but adequately equipped for some late night practices he was sure to be doing. It didn't take him long to finish the homework, and he gratefully pushed the papers aside and dropped into some stretches, letting his mind wander.

He had a lot of planning and thinking ahead of him, he knew. He had discovered the Nibelheim mission was still a year away, with the SOLDIER exams falling six months from now. But there was no way he could pull himself up to Sephiroth's level with only six months of Mako treatments. So the question was, should he attempt SOLDIER or leave now? The planet was dying more every minute, and all the Mako pumping through a SOLDIER's veins wasn't going to stop that.

Cloud had been the only member of AVALANCHE with Mako treatments, and the others had been some of the greatest warriors on the planet. And yet, they had not faced Shinra at its height in power. They had rarely come up against SOLDIERs and when they did Cloud or Vincent was always there the handle it. He didn't want to have to take down other SOLDEIRs though; they weren't the enemy, not really. After Shinra had fallen many of the remaining SOLDIERs had lent a hand in rebuilding the planet. But if it came to a fight Cloud was going to need the Mako, but did he have time to wait?

If he abandoned Shinra and SOLDIER he could free Vincent, perhaps join ALAVALCHE and blow up some Mako reactors, but what about Zack and Sephiroth? What about Hojo and Jenova? Cloud had no idea where Hojo was hiding Jenova. Not in Nibelheim he bet, but where? And how to destroy her once he found her?

Cloud let out a sigh; it seemed his thoughts were just taking him in circles. He needed to pick a priority. Jenova or Shinra and the reactors. That didn't take much thought; Jenova was the more immediate threat. So, would it be more beneficial to stay in SOLDIER, try to get close to Sephiroth so he could stop him at Nibelheim, or break out on his own and search for Jenova? Cloud had no idea how many secret labs Hojo had, and he doubted he'd be able to deal with Jenova before Hojo took matters into his own hands and placed her in Sephiroth's way.

It seemed more beneficial to stay in SOLDIER and try to get close to Sephiroth before the mission. But why would Sephiroth ever listen to _him_? And leaving Jenova until the mission felt too risky. How could he guarantee he'd be assigned to it? He couldn't, which meant Sephiroth had to know the truth beforehand. But Cloud couldn't just march up to the most famous man on Gaia and tell him he knew more about his parentage then Sephiroth himself.

Cloud let out a growl, pulling his body off the floor. _This was so frustrating!_ He let his body flow into a once familiar martial arts routine. It gave his rising frustration a moment to cool off as he attempted to re-teach his young body some of the moves.

So, Cloud had decided walking up to Sephiroth was out. Why would the General listen to a fifteen year old boy? And even if he did it would leave Cloud open to too many questions that he couldn't or wouldn't answer. He planned to inform Sephiroth about his parentage and Jenova, but that certainly didn't entail a detail history of Cloud Strife.

The question was then, how to get Sephiroth the information he needed without letting him know who was giving it to him? Sephiroth was one of the most intelligent men on the planet, if he was presented with the truth Cloud was sure the man would be intrigued enough to do some discrete digging on his own, and would eventually accept it. He wouldn't be able to find much information, maybe some Turk files on Vincent's disappearance, but either way, Cloud was confident Sephiroth would accept the truth. If there was one thing he knew about Sephiroth from Zack's memories, it was that his parentage haunted him. It was a thirst never quenched; he had believed Hojo simply because there was nothing to challenge it. But who actually wanted to believe they were Hojo's flesh and blood?

Cloud's body began to flow more smoothly into the moves as he let his thoughts drift. He needed a way to get the information to Sephiroth…. His body slowed as his mind lighted upon an idea. It might just work. It would be difficult getting a letter to Sephiroth unseen, but easier than having a sit down chat with the man. There had to be some way Cloud could get Sephiroth a letter without risking another's eyes on it, which would be disastrous. It would take some careful planning and patients, but Cloud was confident he would succeed in the end.

He let a small smile lift the corners of his mouth as he pulled out a pen and his notebook and settled down to composing the most important letter of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 4

Kunsel stood outside Zack Fair's door a mere two hours after Zack and Angeal had checked in from their mission. He was eager to tell Zack about his promotion to Second class, and looking forward to getting jumped by his excitable younger friend. It was about time he made Second. He approached his eighteenth birthday, Zack had made Second at only 16, but then what else could be expected- it was Zack.

The door was yanked open by a grumpy looking Zack wearing only a towel slung about his waist, dark hair plastered to his face and sticking up in sharp spikes. Kunsel's eyes followed the dripping water down a perfect chest, before he pulled his gaze back up to water blue eyes. He refused to think about the burning heat coiling in his stomach at the sight of Zack.

Pure desire, he told himself for the thousandth time as Zack's intoxicating grin spread over the younger man's lips. Kunsel used the same old argument –he was young, and bound to fall into lust now and then, though the fact that this intense _need_ only assaulted him around Zack made it harder and harder to buy that line. He refused to accept that he felt anything more than a passing attraction for the other SOLDIER. They were best friends and Zack had never shown interest in another male, anything stronger then base lust would bring Kunsel nothing but a broken friendship.

Kunsel pushed aside the depressing thoughts and proudly pulled back his shoulders, showing off the new purple uniform for the other Second's appraisal.

"What!" Zack's grin got wider if possible, "Second class, awe man!" Kunsel found his arms full of a very wet and bouncy Zack, but he didn't mind in the least. _Stop it, get a hold of yourself_!

"When? Tell me everything," Zack pulled Kunsel bodily into the room. "Just give me a minute to grab some pants. I just got back. I planned to catch some shut eye, but that can wait. I am taking you out tonight, buddy."

Zack yelled from the bedroom, not bothering to close the bedroom door before dropping his towel. Kunsel politely forced his eyes away from the suddenly revealed nude male. Zack was beautiful.

"No, you should rest Zack, it was already a week ago. I can wait another day to celebrate. I just wanted to tell you first before you heard it second hand. You'd have flayed me alive if I'd let someone else tell you first."

"Damn right!" Zack moved back into the room, buckling up his pants as he came, not bothering to put on a shirt.

_And this is why he would kill me if he knew exactly what went through my head. _

"I'll be fine Kunsel, I want to see you drunk off your ass man." Zack said with a grin, Kunsel just rolled his eyes; they both knew getting drunk as a SOLDIER was nearly impossible and damn expensive trying.

"We can go tomorrow, and just hang out here tonight."

Zack let out a disappointed sigh, "Fine, you win old man."

"For the last time, I am _not_ an old man. I am only seven months older…"

"Yeah yeah," Zack waved him off, "Like I said, old."

Kunsel admitted defeat with a small shake of his head. Zack flung himself down on his couch, Kunsel settling in the plush armchair. Zack was one of the lucky Second's; he practically had his own room. Second's were assigned one roommate with their apartment style housing, but some were luckier than others. Zack's roommate was finishing up a six month long tour in Wutai, so Zack had the place to himself until the man got back.

"How was the mission?" Kunsel asked.

"Ugh! I thought it was going to be awesome. We were tracking down that terrorist group AVALANCHE, but it was so boring! I don't know how the Turk's do it, all that monitoring and watching, it's all a load of time sitting on your ass!"

Kunsel let out a laugh at the disgruntled expression on Zack's face. It was so typical Zack, though. No big monster equals no fun. 

"I did get lucky though," Zack had bolted up in his seat and was now giving Kunsel a sly smile.

"You remember that Turk girl, Cissnei?" 

How could he forget? Zack had been crushing on her for months. Kunsel did his best to forget her existence. Luckily he didn't actually think Zack had a chance with her. Rumor said she was with one of the Turks; Kunsel thought it might have been that red-head Reno, but thought she had more class then that. Reno was a regular womanizer.

"Yeah, I remember her."

"Well she was on the mission with us!"

"Oh?" Kunsel tried to inflict some excitement into his voice for his friend, but was pretty sure he'd failed.

"Yep, Angeal kept ridding my ass about 'focusing' but how am I supposed to focus on a boring mission with a girl like that walking around?"

"No idea Zack."  
_  
At least nothing happened. As if it would have changed anything, he's still not ever going to be interested in you._

"So, how did you first time teaching go? My class good for you?" Zack broke into Kunsel's morose thoughts.

"They were great, I really enjoyed it."

"Good, I bet Lazard will assign you your own class when the next batch comes in. Not a lot of Second's actually like teaching the recruits you know." Zack rubbed the back of his neck in thought.

"By the way, I meant to ask you about one of the cadets." Kunsel began.

"Hum? Which one?"

"Cloud Strife."

"Who? Oh yeah, skinny little blond, what about him?"

"Well, he's good, damn good. I've been watching him all week. I wondered why you never mentioned him before." 

"Strife? Uh, Kunsel, nothing against your opinion man, but the kid's not exactly SOLDIER material. I am surprised he even made it into the program."

"That's strange, but he's certainly good now, the best in the class."

"Really? I'll have to watch him tomorrow." Zack still didn't look convinced, but Kunsel knew he's opinion would be justified at the next training session.

Strife had continued to excel all week, if anything only getting better. Kunsel had asked a few of the other instructor's about the boy's ability. None of them had much to say except for the materia instructor. The man had waxed on about Cloud's brilliant talent, actually claiming Strife had performed a level 2 bolt which Kunsel did not believe. The kid was good but not _that_ good.

"I am going to miss teaching." Kunsel sighed. It was the truth, he hadn't been sure how good he'd be in the beginning, but he thought he'd really been getting the hang of it.

"Hey, I've an idea," Zack suddenly exclaimed, "Why don't we asked Angeal if we can both teach. There are twenty cadets in the class, plenty for both of us. If they could get more people willing to teach, I think they should really split up the classes, twenty is too many in a practical class."

Kunsel had to agree with Zack, twenty was stretching it. He liked the idea of teaching with Zack. Not only would he be teaching but he'd be spending two more hours with Zack every morning. He inwardly groaned. That might not be such a good idea. But he couldn't refuse. "OK, as long as Commander Helwey approves it."

"Awesome!" Zack pumped his fist in the air in a signature Zack move, causing a grin to pull up Kunsel's lips.  
...

Cloud carefully wiped the drying blood off his face, before examining the now healed gash on his forehead. He pressed a finger into the soft skin, relieved to only feel a small stab of pain. It was only thanks to the Cure materia he'd lifted from class that he wouldn't be showing up to sword practical with blood trickling down his chin.

The bullying had only gotten worse as the week progressed. Every time Kunsel singled him out in class or Sergeant Brancher sang his praises, more fuel was thrown on a now raging fire of jealousy. He had started out the week with only four boys picking on him, by the end of the week that number had tripled. It seemed they were determined to take out the competition at all costs. Cloud kept himself scarce, avoiding the dorms and other cadets whenever possible, but there were always some times when he was forced to mix with them, and they made good use of their time.

Cloud ended up running away after throwing a few punches every time, it was grating on his pride. Even so grossly outnumbered he still could have put up a good fight, but at the cost of broken limbs or a ticket out of the program. So, he turned tale and ran, and now had gotten the name of coward along with everything else.

The sexual comments about Kunsel had not stop, in fact the opposite. Cloud had even heard some snide whispers in Kunsel's class. Luckily the Second had been engrossed with other students and not heard the rude remarks, but it was only a matter of time. Cloud didn't know how to stop the harassment. He secretly enjoyed the teacher/pupil relationship he had developed with Kunsel, but not at the risk of seeing the hurt in Kunsel's eyes if he were to overhear the malignant whispers. Cloud didn't think the Second couldn't handle it, but it was Cloud's nature to protect. It had been beaten into him for long years, and Kunsel now occupied the list of those he wanted to protect. Cloud was just at a loss as to _how_ he could do that at this point.

Carefully Cloud withdrew the crinkled envelope he carried on his person _everywhere._ He smoothed out the edges, hoping the letter would not receive much more of a beating before it found its way to Sephiroth.

Cloud had spent the week memorizing the General's schedule. Hacking and sneaking his way to the information he needed. He had discovered what floor the General's quarters were located on –the 34th. Unfortunately that was a long climb up the side of the building, not that Cloud didn't think he could do it, but breaking into Sephiroth's rooms would be a last resort. He certainly wouldn't be starting from the cadet level either. He knew he could break into a lower security floor and attempt the climb from there.

He toyed with the idea of slipping the letter onto the General's desk while he was in a meeting, but he still had to find a way to even get up to the 45th floor. Only authorized personal were allowed, and stolen security codes weren't enough to get him in.

However, Cloud was not giving up. He'd paid close attention to Sephiroth's trips off the top floors. Cloud had quickly eliminated the appointments with Hojo. He didn't want Hojo anywhere near his letter. That left training times, which so far seemed to have no set schedule.

Cloud would wait for the opportune moment, he had time, and it was better to be safe then risk letting highly classified information fall into the wrong hands.

Cloud tucked the unadorned envelope back into his shirt and left the bathroom. They had sword training today, and he didn't want to be late.

Most of the other cadets had already arrived before him, and Cloud slipped into the back before checking to see if Kunsel had arrived yet. Cloud bit back a gasp as his eyes settled on Zack's ocean blue ones. The raven spikes held the same shorter style he had noted in the elevator, it made Zack look younger. Cloud watched Zack turn to Kunsel, leaning in to whisper something to the other Second. Cloud wondered why both SOLDIERs were there, but he hardly minded.

Cloud's gaze never flickered from his long dead friend as they waited for the last straggling cadets to arrive. Flashes of the past ruthlessly invaded Cloud's waking world and he struggled to keep his face expressionless. He wanted to throw himself at Zack, wanted to bury his face in the strong chest and _cry._ He wanted to cry for everything and everyone. But Cloud had forgotten how to cry long ago, and this Zack Fair had no idea who Cloud was, other than the pitiful blond who would never make SOLDIER.

"Alright class," Zack's voice broke through the cadets' whispered conversations. It was the same voice that would scream for Hojo to leave him alone when Cloud's own screaming drowned his ears. The same voice that broken through the green haze of Mako telling him it was going to be OK, to hang in there. Cloud felt his eyes burning, but it did not matter, it wasn't like he would break down in salty tears.

"You are some very lucky kids. You are now going to be receiving double the attention from two awesome SOLDIER Second's. Not only am I still going to be your instructor, but you get Kunsel as well!" Zack beamed at them, and Cloud actually had to repress a smile at the SOLDIER's endless enthusiasm. "So here's what we're going to do. I want you to split into two groups, I'll be teaching one today, and Kunsel will take the other. That means now class."

The cadet's scrambled to choose sides. Cloud wasn't sure if he wanted Zack's side or not. As much as he wanted to be near Zack, he didn't know if he could handle it just yet. Seeing Zack again made the ache for him stronger. It didn't matter anymore, that this was not the Zack of his world, if only Cloud could earn this one's friendship, somehow he knew everything would be all right. But then, he'd always felt that way around Zack -safe, protected. It was a dangerous feeling, but one he would do anything to experience again. 

In the end he didn't have to pick sides, he got shoved into Kunsel's group, and quickly paired off with another cadet to begin the mindless drills of basic kata.

…

Zack kept an eye on Cloud Strife throughout the training session, and to say he was surprised by the sudden improvement would be an understatement. Zack was positive he had not misjudged the boy's skills before; Strife had been at the bottom half of the class for a reason. He'd been clumsy, weak, though not entirely inept, he'd shown some natural instincts when sparing with the other boys, but not enough to make up for his other weaknesses. The boy had been below average, but somehow Strife had managed to rise to the head of the class in only one week?

Zack shook his head in confusion_. Maybe Kunsel is just an exceptional teacher_. But it took more than a dedicated instructor to produce the change Zack saw. Strife was a natural. He handled the clumsy wooden swords as if he'd been born with a sword in his hand. 

Zack mentally pushed thoughts of Strife aside; he'd be having a long and hopefully productive discussion with Kunsel later, now he had a class to teach. Zack was correcting Hammerson's stance for what seemed the thousandth time, patiently rearranging the boy's stocky legs, when his enhanced hearing picked up the whispered comments of some of his cadets.

Zack's head snapped around, blue eyes narrowing as he pinpointed the boys. Robinson and Denton, two of the bigger boys who'd shuffled themselves into the back, seemingly forgetting that Zack could hear every word. Zack's hearing was even better than Kunsel's. He'd been a Second class for almost a year, which meant a considerable more amount of Mako was pumping through his veins then the recently promoted Kunsel.

The whispered words had been about Kunsel, the boys'_ instructor_, and cadet Strife. Zack had experienced his fair share of favoritism attacks both as an instructor and more so as a cadet, but even he was shocked by the boys' words. An accusation of receiving sexual acts from a cadet for favoritism in training was a serious offense. Zack did not for a minute believe Kunsel would do such a thing, but rumors could be dangerous and even without proof, damage a SOLDIER's reputation. While it would not be the first time Zack had run into these sorts of allegations, he found it hard to control his mounting anger at the boys' words.

The comment had been uncommonly explicit, and the fact that it was said in Kunsel's presence singled an attack of a more aggressive nature. Zack clearly remembered receiving some remarks about himself and Angeal when the First had starting showing a professional interest in him, but never were they said in Angeal's _presence_! This was unacceptable, and could be dangerous if other instructors started to catch wind of the rumors.

Zack's eyes flickered over to Kunsel who was at that moment working with Strife. Kunsel stood directly behind the boy, his right hand wrapped around Strife's wrist, apparently demonstrating a new technique. Strife looked uncomfortable with the close proximity of the SOLDIER, but also had a strange look of patients on his youthful features, as if he was suffering the attention so as not to offend the SOLDIER.

Kunsel stepped back, and asked Strife to try the new move. Strife executed it perfectly, and Zack saw Kunsel's brow raise, Zack could feel his own joining it. He had no idea what had prompted Kunsel to teach Strife a downward slash of that level, but the class wouldn't be covering it for months. Yet, it was as if Strife already knew it!

Zack filed this away for later thought. He had the more pressing issue of Kunsel's reputation to deal with before the question of Cloud Strife could be answered. Zack resolved once more to talk with Kunsel after class. Zack hoped they would be able to think of a way to combat the rumors while still giving Kunsel the chance to teach Strife's class.

Zack tossed Kunsel a beer before stretching out on his comfortable couch, Kunsel sinking into his favorite chair. Zack was fully aware of his own good fortune in having an almost non-existent roommate, and took full advantage of the privacy. He shuttered to think what he and his friend would do if they were stuck with hanging out at Kunsel's apartment. Kunsel's roommate was a royal ass.

Zack sipped his cold beer as he planned how to broach the subject of cadet Strife, but it was Kunsel who brought the boy up first. 

"So? What do you think of Cloud now?" Kunsel had a decidedly smug grin on his face, knowing full well Zack had to admit the boy had some serious skill. Zack made a mental note to make sure Kunsel wasn't using the cadet's first name in class.

"He's good, I just don't see how he improved this quickly," He rubbed the back of his neck, "Last week I would have swore the boy would never make SOLDIER, and now he's the best in the class!"

"Really? Because he was good the very first day I taught, so it wasn't gradual or anything."

"Huh…" The kid got more confusing by the minute. Cloud was a mystery he fully intended to unravel, but his first priority at the moment was his friend.

"Kunsel…" Zack fidgeted a moment with his drink. He didn't know how to address this topic with the older SOLDIER. Kunsel was always the more mature or the two, but Zack had been teaching longer and technically had the higher rank. He sometimes wondered if that bothered Kunsel, but if it did his friend had never said anything.

"About Cloud…." Kunsel cocked his head at his friend's uncommon hesitancy. "I overheard some of the other cadet's talking in class –you know I would never think you'd ever do something like this—but they were starting some pretty crude rumors about you and Cloud."

"Crude in what way?" Kunsel asked carefully. Zack could tell his friend was already getting offended; Zack was really making a mess of this it seemed.

"Not like I believed them, but I wanted you to hear it from me first in case…" Kunsel's posture tensed, waiting for the words. Zack sighed heavily, "Sexual favors, Kunsel."

Zack watched the range of emotions flicker over his friend's face –anger, hurt, disbelief, his jaw finally taking on a defensive set. "I would_ never_ do something like that."

"Hold up buddy," Zack was already sitting up again, and he reached out to place a reassuring hand on Kunsel's shoulder, and was relieved when his friend didn't pull away. "I already told you, you don't need to convince me. I know you wouldn't do that. I just wanted you to be aware so you could… I don't know, watch yourself in class…" he offered Kunsel a little smile, which was thankfully returned.

Zack inwardly cursed the stupid ignorant cadets who had dared to slander his friend's name. Kunsel was the last man who would accept sexual favors from a student. Zack still remembered the day a distraught Kunsel had confided in him, telling Zack about how one of their instructors had approached him. Zack had been the top cadet in their year, and had already had a few less then wholesome comments made about him, but he'd never been _approached_ by an instructor to actually _do _any of those things.

Zack had talked Kunsel into reporting the instructor to Commander Helwey who had been their teacher for sword practical. Kunsel hadn't wanted to at first, but had finally listened to his friend. The offending instructor had been dully reprimanded, and Zack had thought the matter would end there. It hadn't. A week later, the demoted and furious SOLDIER had cornered Kunsel and assaulted the weaker cadet. If it hadn't been for Commander Rhapsodos, of all people, discovering them in time, Zack had no doubt the man would have raped Kunsel.  
The whole thing had been hushed up, Shinra didn't want the bad publicity, and sometimes it felt like it had never happened. But Zack doubted Kunsel would ever forget the incident, and Zack cursed those ignorant cadets who had brought the past up with their careless words.

Kunsel's voice brought Zack back to the present, "Maybe I shouldn't teach anymore."

"No! You're an awesome teacher!"

"I like teaching, but Zack, I really don't want to deal with this. Maybe I am being a coward but I…"

"Don't you ever call yourself that again," Zack cut him off. "If you decide not to teach this term, there's nothing wrong with that. Nobody's going to blame you if you want some distance. I was really looking forward to teaching with you, but we can always wait until next term. By then Cloud will be in SOLDIER no doubt, and this whole thing will have blown over."

Kunsel gave Zack the reassuring smile he was looking for. "OK Zack and stop worrying, I'll be fine. I'll just sit this one out." 

"All right, um… maybe we should tell Angeal you won't be teaching anymore?"

Kunsel gave Zack a startled look, "Oh, could we just leave it? I don't really want to explain to the Commander about…"

"Yeah, I got it." Zack gave his friend's shoulder another squeeze before dropping his hand. "Well, you better hurry up and get changed."

"What?" Kunsel asked in confusion.

Zack winked at him, "Remember? I am getting you smashing drunk tonight in honor of your promotion!"

Kunsel grinned, "Give me five minutes," and was dashing back to his room to prepare for a whole night of Zack.

Two weeks later found Kunsel standing before Cloud Strife's sword practical class, with no Zack by his side. Kunsel had been assigned the class in Zack's absence again, and Kunsel had not been willing to explain his own misgivings before accepting the temporary instructor position. He could only tell himself to keep a professional distance from Cloud, and hope that two weeks had been enough to calm the rumors and other cadets' petty jealousy. Kunsel wished Zack was there, but the Second class had been sent off on a highly classified mission with his mentor Angeal.

Zack had confided in him that he was going to Wutai to search for Genesis Rhapsodos who was MIA. Kunsel had already heard the rumor of Commander Rhapsodos missing statues. SOLDIER was abuzz with rumors and speculation about what had happened to the First class. Kunsel couldn't help worrying about Zack. Zack was the finest Second class they had, but Wutai was in the middle of a war, and nobody went there without risk.

A month later Zack Fair would arrive back in Midgar –alone—with Angeal Helwey nowhere in sight.


	5. Chapter 5

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 5

It was finally the weekend again, and Cloud had almost smiled rolling out of bed this morning. Most of the other cadets took advantage of two free days. Those who could afford it spent the night with lovers or just out on the town, and those who couldn't still managed to spend their time as far from the dominating Shinra building as possible. Cloud had counted all of ten other cadets at lunch today, and none of them had been part of the 'harass Strife' group.

The day had started out on a growingly familiar note though. He dreamt of Zack last night, as he had done for the past week, or rather he had spent the night reliving some of Zack's most disturbing memories. Zack had been gone on a second mission for the last week. Officially Zack and Commander Hawley were assigned to a short tour in Wutai. Cloud would have believed the Shinra lies if the dreams hadn't started, throwing him vividly into Zack's past.

Cloud knew Angeal and Genesis had been used as experiments by Hollander, and he had known Zack had been forced to kill Angeal. Cloud_ remembered_ the fight and Zack's own sense of failure and hopelessness after, when it seemed everything he'd believed in for so long had been stripped away. What Cloud hadn't remembered was how young Zack had been. He hadn't realized when he'd seen the two SOLDIERS in the elevator only a month ago, that their lives would be altered irreversibly in a matter of weeks.

It was hard to gain a sense of time from Zack's memories, but Cloud knew Zack had been a First class and forced to live with the apparent loss of his mentor for months before he'd killed Angeal by the man's own request.

Cloud wished he knew some way to protect his friend from the horror of this loss. Zack had always been there for him, yet now, when his friend needed him Cloud felt powerless. Angeal and Genesis had deteriorated from the Jenova cells corrupting their bodies. Unlike Sephiroth, they had been 'failed' experiments.

Cloud probably knew more about Jenova then anyone else alive. He had heard her voice screaming in his head over and over, and been controlled like a puppet by Sephiroth/Jenova. He had nearly died from her cells infecting his body. But still, he did not know how to stop the inevitable deterioration facing Angeal and Genesis unless he could find a cure.

Cloud pushed himself off his bed. He had been enjoying the peace of the nearly empty dorm, but his thoughts betrayed him as usual, spinning him into despair. He shot a glance at the wall clock. It was already after 3 pm, time to go. He knew he could expect his thoughts to play over the two First class's fate over and over again in the coming months, but now he had a letter to deliver.

Cloud had kept a watchful eye upon Sephiroth's movements for the past month, and marked Saturday afternoon as his best chance to slip Sephiroth the letter. The General used the SOLDIER training rooms every Saturday. It was the only consistent training time Cloud had been able to find, but that didn't surprise Cloud, Sephiroth was a busy man.

Cloud made his way towards the training rooms. He had slipped into casual civilian clothes for this mission. If Sephiroth did spot him Cloud wanted to give the man as few clues to his identity as possible. Cloud wiped a bit of drizzling sweat off his forehead. He was only wearing a loose black T-shirt and jeans, but the heat was suffocating.

One of the Mako rectors had malfunctioned last night, causing the cooling system for most of the Shinra building to shut down. Cloud just hoped they fixed it by Monday; training in this heat would be unpleasant. It was only mid-June, but Cloud had forgotten how hot Midgar got with the permanent layer of pollution hanging over its skies, trapping the heat in.

It took Cloud awhile to locate Sephiroth today; he wasn't in his usual haunts –the First class training rooms. Instead Cloud found him in a small Second class simulation room marked 'Junon cannon.' Cloud peeked through the glass. Sephiroth was sitting alone on one of the few benches framing the far wall.

The room was dark, signaling that either Sephiroth was gearing up for the simulation or he'd just completed one, which would be bad luck for Cloud. He'd taken off his long leather coat, draping it onto the bench beside him. Cloud could see the sweat slowly dripping down a pale chest even in the low lighting. Sephiroth was certainly well built, but Cloud would have suspected nothing less.

To Cloud's surprise, Sephiroth seemed content to sit in the dark room, doing seemingly nothing. Masamune was draw, resting within arm's reach, but Sephiroth made no move to take up his weapon. Instead he held a small red-leather bound book in his hands, turning it over and over as he stared off into space, apparently lost in thought.

Cloud had never seen his former enemy like this. There was an unreadable emotion in Sephiroth's usually guarded eyes –regret, worry, loneliness? All of those jarred with the Sephiroth Cloud had known. That Sephiroth had known nothing but hate. Hate for Shinra, the planet, humanity, and Cloud. But Cloud had never liked dwelling on those painful memories of this man, instead he pulled forth Zack's memories –the ones he had stolen. Still, Sephiroth had never been an emotional man. There was a certain fondness for Zack evident in the man's green eyes, but Zack didn't posses any memories of Sephiroth laughing or giving him warm smiles. No memories of teasing interactions, or shared jokes. Yet, undoubtedly there was a form of friendship between them. Cloud wondered if it was a more subtle friendship, one that was poorly reflected in stolen memories. Cloud vaguely remembered Zack speaking of Sephiroth in the labs, telling him stories of things they had done together.

_Or maybe when I absorbed a part of Zack's soul my own rejected his friendship with Sephiroth, denying that the man could have been as Zack remembered him. _

Cloud knew this was a very likely possibility. He had recognized and accepted that Zack and Sephiroth had been friends, but that understanding had not come immediately. It had developed slowly over time. As he had learned more of Sephiroth's past, the torments of his childhood spent like an animal in the labs, and especially after learning of Sephiroth's true parentage, Cloud's opinion of the man had shifted. Now he was able to accept that Sephiroth was no monster, had never been one, had been used and ruined by Jenova who had been the true monster. It was this understanding that lead Cloud to here and now, willing to risk exposure for the sake of this man's sanity.

As the minutes ticked by though and Sephiroth showed no signs of breaking out of whatever thoughts held him, Cloud began to cast glances over his shoulder. He was feeling more exposed by the minute. He had no business in the SOLDIER training rooms. Cloud was just about to call it off and wait for a more promising moment when Sephiroth rose suddenly. He set the book next to his discarded coat, running his fingers down the cover in a strange sort of caress, before picking up Masamune.

Cloud waited until Sephiroth was swinging Masamune around in graceful arches as he battled invisible enemies, before letting his fingers fly over the access pad. The door opened without a sound, and Cloud slipped inside. He slithered along the walls, careful to keep his body out of range of the simulation sensors; he had no wish to find himself in the virtual world of Junon face to face with Sephiroth.

When Cloud reached Sephiroth's leather coat, he carefully slipped the letter into its folds, leaving only the tip visible. When Sephiroth picked up his coat again the envelope would be shaken loose, and Cloud had no doubt Sephiroth would see it. As Cloud turned to go his eyes landed on the book resting peacefully on the bench. A flowery gold script proclaimed its title as _Loveless_.

When Cloud slipped out of the room again he felt as if an impressive weight had been lifted from his shoulders while a knot of nervous excitement began twisting in his gut. The dice was casted, the first move in thwarting the mistakes of the future made. It was both terrifying and exhilarating as Cloud pondered how this could affect the new future.

…..

Cloud was still deep in SOLDIER territory when he saw a familiar figure turn the corner ahead of him. His mind quickly ran over his possibilities –hide or greet the approaching SOLDIER—Kunsel's eyes were too quick even for Cloud though. Cloud had just moved to slip into the shadows when Kunsel called out to him.

"Cadet Strife? What are you doing up here?"

"Just looking around, sir. I got bored hanging out in the dorms. I won't get in trouble will I?" Cloud widened his eyes, giving Kunsel a nervous cadet stare.

"Naw, don't worry about it Cloud, but don't make it a habit OK? Technically cadets aren't allowed in the SOLDIER areas, but most of us aren't going to give you a talking down if we catch you here. Zack, your sword practical instructor, used to sneak up here all the time when he was a cadet." Kunsel had a fond smile playing on his lips at the memory.

"I bet he did," Cloud mumbled to himself, but Kunsel caught it. Cloud's familiar words only seemed to relax Kunsel though.

"Yes, he was always trying to drag me along too, but…" He broke off suddenly, a shadow falling over his face.

Cloud knew that look too well to pry. He had his own share of bad memories; he wasn't going to push Kunsel for an explanation. He was surprised by a desire to continue the conversation with the Second. Talking with Kunsel was comforting; he didn't feel the usual awkwardness around acquaintances. Cloud actually _wanted _to talk.

"Is SOLDIER Zack due back soon, sir?" Cloud pulled Kunsel out of the past with his words; he knew how much he himself dreaded those long minutes lost in memory.

"I don't know, but I hope so. He's a good teacher isn't he? And the best of friends." Kunsel had added the last too himself, but Cloud had excellent hearing even if it wasn't up to enhanced standards, and he caught the wistful words.

Cloud could almost hear the worried thoughts accompanying them in the SOLDIERs head. "Zack knows how to get himself home. He'll be fine."

Kunsel gave him a long look and Cloud inwardly cursed his assuming words. Zack was his _instructor _not his friend –not yet. Kunsel was giving him a thoughtful look, and Cloud forced himself not to wiggle like a kid under it. _How he hated attention!_

"Yeah, he does. Hey, I was just wishing Zack was here so I could get my ass kicked in a spar. How about it?" Cloud stared at Kunsel a moment, keeping his face blank and wondering if now would be a good time to let Kunsel know about the rumors still whirling through the cadet dorms. He didn't think a private spar with Kunsel was a good idea.

But suddenly Kunsel's expression shifted and Cloud realized someone had already told the SOLDIER and he was just now realizing what he'd suggested. "I didn't mean… you don't have too…" the SOLDIER's face was betraying his inner distress over the slip. Cloud hated seeing him upset over petty rumors.

"I know, sir. It's alright. I had hoped you wouldn't have to hear what they were saying, but I guess it's a little late for that huh?"

Kunsel nodded, hazel eyes sliding away from Cloud's.

"It only hurts if we let it though, right? I try not to let it bother me." Kunsel glanced back at Cloud, and he could see the surprise in the SOLDIER's eyes. He supposed he was taking it rather well for a fifteen year old. Hesitantly he added, "I know I won't make much of a sparring partner, but I would be honored if you still wanted to, and I know how to keep my mouth shut. Nobody needs to know." Cloud shrugged, and then surprised himself by adding, "To be honest I'd appreciate the company, sir."

Cloud hated how desperate that last part had come out. He trusted Kunsel because of Zack's memories, but he was not used to admitting any weaknesses, and the loneliness he couldn't deny feeling was a weakness. It had been a very long month. He realized he'd taken his friends for granted before. He may have gone months without seeing them sometimes, but they had always been _there_ if he had needed them. He craved the company of someone closer to his own age and who wasn't taking every opportunity to try and beat the fight out of him. He knew he could never share even a hint of his burden with Kunsel, but it would be nice to have the company all the same.

He was taking a risk though in offering to spar with the SOLDIER. He had already drawn Zack and Kunsel's attention with his swift rise in skill. Zack had actually tried to coax an explanation out of him after one of their training session. Cloud had skirted around the questions, so lost in Zack's voice and the reality that he had been speaking to Cloud, that he could barely get words out. He had missed Zack so much! He'd wanted to throw himself into the man's arms. He had hated the looks of confused disappointment he had received instead of the open smiles.

Crossing blades with Kunsel would almost certainly lead to questions he wouldn't be able to answer, but it was too late to take the offer back, and he was only avoiding the inevitable. Cloud had already seen the questions burning behind both Zack and Kunsel's eyes. He was lucky he had gone a whole month without either of them pressing the issue. Cloud supposed he might as well get a good spar out of it, and he'd rather have this conversation with Kunsel then Zack. He wasn't sure he'd be strong enough to refuse Zack if he pushed the issue.

Zack had been everything to Cloud for so many years. He had been his anchor, his reasons to keep living, to keep holding on to his sanity in the lab even when Hojo was doing his best to drive Cloud out of his mind. Zack's memories, his very identity had been merged with Cloud's own, for two years Cloud had believe he _was _Zack. If there was one person Cloud would find it nearly impossible to lie too it was Zack. With Kunsel at least he might be able to convince him to let it go.

….

Kunsel pulled his short Katana sword from its harness at his back. He had taken Cloud to an empty Second's training room. He knew they wouldn't be interrupted here on a Saturday evening. Who trained at this time of day on a weekend?

Kunsel had hesitated at first before accepting Cloud's offer to spar. He hadn't been thinking when first mentioning it. For a moment it had felt like he'd been speaking with another SOLDIER, not a cadet. Not cadet _Strife_ who he was supposed to be keeping his distance from. But the look of unaccustomed vulnerability on Cloud's face when he had said he'd like the company had pushed his own doubts aside.

He had noticed how Cloud appeared to have no friends. He kept to himself, not talking to the other boys during class. And given the slandering comments had been as much about Cloud as himself, Kunsel could only imagine what Cloud's life in the dorms was like. Zack had been the main target for jealousy in their year, but Zack had always had friends despite his immense skill. But then it was Zack, what else was to be expected?

Cloud seemed completely isolated and withdrawn from the other cadets, and Kunsel hadn't been able to deny the boy his company even with his own misgivings. But Kunsel was confident none of the other cadets would ever know about this evening's training. Cloud was surprisingly mature for a fifteen year old, and Kunsel found he actually enjoyed spending time with him. If Cloud had been a SOLDIER he would have pursued a friendship, but he supposed he only had to wait a few more months before Cloud passed the SOLDIER exams and that became a possibility.

Kunsel led Cloud over to a row of real practice swords, not the cheap wooden ones the cadets used. "Do you think you can handle a metal sword?"

"Yes, sir." Kunsel didn't miss the eager blue eyes sweeping over the weapons in appreciation, and he hid a smile. What cadet wouldn't snatch at a chance to practice with a real sword? "Are you going to be able to fight it that?" Kunsel gestured to Cloud's T-shirt and jeans.

Cloud lifted up his pant's leg, showing off his sturdy boots. "Not a problem."

Kunsel nodded, turning back to the swords. "This is your first time with a real weapon. You have two choices today. The smaller Katana blades, which are more suited to men with our body types," Kunsel gestured to his own slender build. "Or the broadsword."

"I'd like to try a broadsword, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," Cloud certainly looked certain.

Kunsel pulled out one of the broadswords, "Swing it about a few times, let me know if it's too heavy." He instructed.

Cloud took a few testing swipes with the sword, a pleased look stealing into his eyes. "Good?"

"Good, sir."

Kunsel gave Cloud a thoughtful look as he watched the boy handle the heavy weapon. There was a slight jerkiness to his movements at first, but he quickly adjusted to the feel of the sword. _A natural swordsman indeed_. Kunsel decided he was going to wrangle some answers from the boy after their spar. There was no way he was letting this opportunity slip by.

"Cloud, I heard you were pretty good with materia?"

Cloud's face immediately slipped into a blank expression. Kunsel wasn't sure what this look meant, but he wasn't fairly certain Cloud's warning singles were going off, but Kunsel didn't plan on pushing the kid just yet.

"I am not terribly good myself. In fact I couldn't cast any spells before I got the Mako shots." Kunsel snorted at his long history of failure when it came to materia.

"I thought you had to be able to use materia to pass the SOLDIER exams?" Cloud asked.

"Usually yes, and originally the Turks wanted me. But I was good with a sword, and they let me in even with no magical talent. Normally if a person cannot cast spells they aren't much good at anything. But it was only with materia I had problems."

"Why didn't you join the Turks?"

Kunsel gave Cloud a rueful smile, "Zack." And surprisingly this seemed to be all the explanation Cloud needed. "Anyway, I think it would be good for you to get some practice using materia alongside a weapon. Since you have a talent for both you'll no doubt be using them together in the future. I've never managed to cast a spell higher then level one," another mocking smile. "But I'll get you an emergency shield bracer just to be safe."

Kunsel dug around in a cabinet for awhile before coming back with the bracer and a handful of materia. "Here, I'll show you how to use them with your sword."

Kunsel only had to demonstrate once before Cloud had mastered the technique. Kunsel suspected Cloud hadn't really needed the instructional to begin with. Cloud shouldn't have been able to swing his broadsword as if he'd never been a day without it in his life, and he certainly shouldn't have looked like an old veteran with materia. Kunsel had decided to keep the questions until after they'd sparred, he had no doubt he would be tacking a few more mysteries onto Cloud Strife's already long list before they were done.

Ten minutes later Kunsel had completely lost himself in their little duel, and from the look in Cloud's eyes he had as well. At first Cloud had looked almost cautions, his movements stifled as if he was holding himself back, but then Kunsel had picked up the pace and soon they had both sunk completely into the sweet dance of clashing blades.

The fact that his opponent was a cadet didn't register itself in Kunsel's brain for the next thirty minutes, and it was only Cloud's unenhanced body that brought the duel to an end. Cloud was panting heavily after trying to keep pace with a SOLDIER Second, and Kunsel was just staring at him. Kunsel was quite sure Cloud could have taken down a Third class SOLDIER, Mako enhancements and all. What Cloud lost in strength and endurance he more than made up for in skill. Kunsel found himself wishing he'd been able to watch Cloud dueling from the sidelines. He could feel the utter grace and elegance in the boy's every move, and he was sure it would have been damn beautiful to watch.

One thing was settled in Kunsel's mind though. Cloud Strife was no ordinary cadet. Kunsel had felt it before when looking into the boy's eyes, but he knew it with even more certainty now. There was something _other_ about him. Not wrong, or unwholesome, just _different_, and he wished he could place his finger on what that something was.

Kunsel knew Cloud could feel him watching him as the boy regained his breath. Those blue eyes met his, but they were closed, not even a shred of thought flickering through them. It was unnerving, but Cloud had to know what was coming, he wasn't stupid. Then suddenly it seemed like Cloud came to some decision in his mind, and Kunsel almost swore he saw something akin to a 'fuck it' cross the wide blue depths.

"Kunsel, sir, I've never known anyone who didn't have the capacity to use materia even without Mako enhancements. I think you've just never tapped into your inner energy current which is why you've never been able to go beyond a level one spell."

That was _not_ what Kunsel had expected to hear. He wondered why Cloud was telling him this. Cloud had to know he wasn't getting out of Kunsel's questions. It was almost like Cloud already knew he was screwed and he decided he could afford to let some more slip now. Though why Cloud was telling him about materia, Kunsel didn't know.

"I could help you if you want," Cloud offered, "And not because you're going to do me some favor or something, just… well, using materia might save your life someday, you never know."

Kunsel tried not to let his surprise show, but he knew he'd failed. Cloud was offering to teach him materia? He said it wasn't to gain favor, but why would Cloud really care enough about him to do it for nothing?

"I am still going to get some answers out of you." Kunsel warned.

"I know."

"And I am not promising anything, or doing anything for free just because you say you can help me." Kunsel let a hard note burnish his words. He didn't know what Cloud was playing at, but he wasn't going to be _used_.

"I am not asking for anything, and I never would." Kunsel gave Cloud a long look, trying to read him. Strangely he found himself believing Cloud, though he still couldn't figure out why Cloud would do something for nothing.

"Alright then, I accept your help Cloud. BUT we are not leaving this room until we've talked."

Cloud nodded before deftly slipping one of the fire materia from its place in his sword.

"You know Cloud, I've been trying to lean how to wield materia for years. I've have multiple people explain it to me, but only the Mako allows me cast at all."

"Hum, well I had a very special person explain it to me once. " Cloud's eyes unfocused for a moment and Kunsel knew he was remembering this mysterious person.

"Who was he? Maybe he'd be willing to teach other SOLDIERs. You certainly know your way among materia."

"She; and she's not around anymore." Cloud didn't say anything more, and from the hard line of his jaw Kunsel was sure the woman had died. He wished he'd kept his mouth shut. There was something in the air around Cloud that told Kunsel he was intruding on something intensely private. As much as Kunsel wanted to know Cloud's secret to his skill, he never wanted to violate his privacy if he could help it.

"Here," Cloud held out the fire materia for Kunsel to take. "Can you feel the power in it?"

"Yes, I've been able to feel the energy in materia before."

"Good, now I want you to search for a matching energy within yourself. We all have an inner current running through our bodies, and it is upon this that we draw the energy to summon and wield the power in a materia. The Mako helps you connect with the materia because materia are formed out of Mako which is in turn is a form of the Lifestream. We have a piece of the Lifestream in all of us, this current, and when you wield a materia you are using the energy of the Lifestream within you."

"What? I've never heard any of this before. A piece of the Lifestream? Isn't that where dead souls go?" Kunsel gave Cloud a doubtful look.

"Kunsel, what I am telling you now is not common knowledge. When other SOLDIER's cast spells they are not consciously aware that they are drawing upon this current, they simply do it naturally. That is why everyone has the capacity to wield material, but not everyone achieves their full potential."

"Huh."

"Kunsel…" Cloud's was giving him a hard look that didn't fit on the youthful face. Kunsel was reminded of that_ otherness_ of Cloud again. "I trust you Kunsel, which is why I am telling you this, but you understand that you cannot tell anyone it was_ me_ who taught you?"

"Of course."

"And you cannot tell anyone about the current within."

"Why not? I know a few other SOLDIERs who could use some help with materia."

Cloud shook his head sharply, "No, you can't tell them Kunsel. Promise me."

Kunsel was about to tell Cloud no, what right did the cadet have to make him promise, but the grave look Cloud was giving him stopped him. The hairs on the back of Kunsel's neck lifted, and he knew somehow that this was dangerous knowledge. He didn't believe Cloud was the danger, but somehow he knew_ Cloud_ would be the one in danger if anyone found out. In fact, Kunsel himself would be the target of this unknown danger if he leaked his new knowledge.

"I promise Cloud." He wasn't so sure he wanted to know the secret of Cloud Strife's unexplained skill anymore.

Cloud searched Kunsel's face for a long moment, but whatever he was searching for he seemed to find. He gave Kunsel a little nod. "Alright, now close your eyes and look into yourself for your inner current."

Feeling a little silly, Kunsel obediently closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on finding hidden energy.

"Can you feel the Mako in your blood?" Cloud asked. Kunsel gave a little nod. "Good, now go deeper."

Kunsel had never done anything like this before and he was pretty sure the other SOLDIERs hadn't either, but he found himself believing Cloud, so he didn't give up. Kunsel knew the moment his conscious mind brushed against the inner current of energy. He nearly pulled back from the pulse of rare power he felt rolling off it.

"Cloud I think…"

"Good, good, now try to pull the energy up and fuel it into the materia."

It was hard work at first, but eventually Kunsel felt the current answering his call, and he carefully guided the power into his hand and the waiting materia. The affect was immediate. Kunsel's eyes flew open as he felt the powerful spell erupt from the fire materia. It had to be at least a level 2, if not 3 spell and he nearly lost control of it.

When the blaze was finally back in the little sphere, resting innocently in Kunsel's hand, his almond eyes had widened impossibly as he cast Cloud a stunned look. Cloud was smirking at him, the little imp!

"Looks like you found it."

"Yeah," the shock was wearing off and Kunsel suddenly realized he'd just performed some serious magic. "I cannot believe…. And it was there_ all_ the time!"

"As I said, anyone can use materia they just have to learn how."

"I guess so." Kunsel let a happy grin settle upon his face. He couldn't wait to show Zack! Kunsel was going to practice every day, by the time Zack got back he was going to be a master materia caster! "I suppose I am going to have to think of an excuse for my sudden competency, huh?"

"Well, I am sure you'll think of something."

"Right," but Kunsel decided he could work that out latter, he was still determined to get some answers out of Cloud, though he somehow doubted now that they were going to be satisfying ones. "So Cloud," Kunsel could almost hear the boy's inner sigh, but Cloud's face relieved nothing. It was uncanny how much control he had. "Are you ready to tell me what's going on? According to Zack you weren't exactly the most skilled sword's man a month ago, and after today I think you're good enough to beat some Third's without a drop of Mako in you."

"Kunsel, I don't want to lie to you, but I cannot tell you either. I know how bad it must look, but I swear I don't have any malicious intent. But I honestly cannot tell you why."

"I never thought you had anyone's harm in mind, Cloud, but cannot you tell me something? I just want to understand. How can I let this go?"

"Are you going to tell other people?"

"I'll wait until Zack comes back and talk with him, but I should warn you, Zack is not going to be satisfied with an 'I can't tell you.' If we do decided to tell a superior officer what would you do Cloud?"

"That depends on what the officer did. If I am forced to explain myself or risk getting kicked out the SOLDIER program I would no doubt end up packing my bags. However, if Shinra saw my jump in skill and inability to answer for myself satisfactorily as a threat, if they thought they could gain something from interrogating me, then they would and you would probably never see me again, Kunsel. They would not hesitate to kill me." Cloud's voice held absolute certainty, and as much as Kunsel wanted to deny it, he knew the boy was right, but what could Cloud be hiding that was worth death?

"Is it really that bad? What secret is worth your life Cloud?"

"It's not my life I am worried about, but those of people I care about. I would rather die than betray them. Please Kunsel," and finally Kunsel saw some real emotion filling Cloud's face. He wished he hadn't. It was like a dam had broken, and waves of pain and endless grief and a desperate _need _flooded Cloud's eyes. It was unbearable. How did one hold so much anguish in their soul? What had happened to Cloud to give him these eyes, eyes that Kunsel selfishly wanted Cloud to pull the mask back over again and spare him from having to looking into the ocean of tearing sorrow.

"Please Kunsel, give me some time. I swear to you I would never hurt you or Zack, _never_. Can you not leave it, would it cost you so much?"

Kunsel did not doubt Cloud for a moment. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew it was far far beyond him. He trusted Cloud, how, why, he placed his trust in a mere cadet, he didn't know. But then Cloud Strife was so much more than a mere cadet.

"I believe you, and I'll do what I can to stop Zack from brining you to the attention of anyone else. I don't know what your hiding and maybe I should be less trusting, but… well I don't know why, but I trust you."

"Thank-you Kunsel," Cloud's reply was barely a whisper, but his voice shook with the weight of it.

"Cloud, be careful. You're probably safe until the exams, Zack and I are the only SOLDIER's who see you with a sword, and afterwards well… if you want to use me as an excuse I'll accept that. I'd rather be accused of favoritism then the alternative. Shinra can be ruthless."

"I know, but I'll think of something Kunsel, I don't want to get you involved."

"Well, it's a little late for keeping me out of this isn't it Cloud?"

Cloud gave him a look full of regret, "I am sorry." Kunsel just waved the apology away. "I promise you, Kunsel, I won't let you regret this. I am going to protect you." Cloud breathed out this last line, meant only for himself, but Kunsel heard anyway. Cloud had meant it as a promise to himself, and Kunsel was left wondering what on Gaia was going on.


	6. Chapter 6

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 6

Sephiroth's pale hair was plastered to his skin, wet tendrils of sweat lacing his chest and back. The Mako reactor's maintenance crew was going to be getting a visit from the General tomorrow. A malfunction in a reactor could cause more than just a few cases of heat stroke; there was no excuse for such carelessness.

Sephiroth sheathed Masamune; despite the heat he had needed the work out –anything to take his mind off of his lost friend. His brow creased as he shook off the worried thoughts. Angeal would bring him home. Even so, Sephiroth couldn't throw off the nagging feeling that something was not right. Something had not been right for months though.

Sephiroth's eyes lingered about the empty room. They used to come here every Saturday, but it seemed like an eternity had passed since then, and everything had changed. A part of him said it was his own fault he only had scattered ashes where once there had been two fires –Angeal and Genesis— it was his own goddamn fault. But there was so little he could find pride in, so much of himself had been stripped away. If he was arrogant with his fingers curled around his sword, was that such a crime? He knew he was the best, but Genesis had called him conceited, an 'egotistical bastard.' Angeal's words played back through his head for the thousandth time, "All hail Sephiroth." He cringed at the memory.

Sephiroth's hand settled upon the leather copy of Loveless, tracing the gold letters. How he had hated hearing Genesis recite these wretched lines at every inopportune moment, yet now he would do almost anything to hear the smug voice. He stopped those thoughts dead. Genesis could take care of himself, he would be alright, and when Angeal and Genesis came home Sephiroth would make this right –somehow.

_But was he just deceiving himself?_

He didn't know _how_ to fix this because he was _Sephiroth_. Genesis and Angeal had made him their friend, at least he had thought so, it was certainly the closest thing he had ever come to friendship, but now he wasn't so sure. He wished he understood these complicated things called emotions. He knew he cared about Genesis and Angeal, but he didn't know how to show it, or maybe he did know but was too _afraid_…

Sephiroth clamped down on the thought. He was the General of the Shinra military, he was not afraid. And he would find a way to piece this broken friendship back together. They had shut him out, and he didn't know how to get back in. He cursed Hojo and his own twisted past. _Why did people have to be so complicated? _

Sephiroth tucked the little book under his arm before picking up his coat. His eyes were drawn down when he caught the small rustling of paper hitting tiled floor. A plain envelope had fallen out of his coat. Strange. He bent and picked it up cautiously. Someone had placed it there, but who? And how had they done it without him noticing?

He split the seal and withdrew the cheap notebook paper. A spidery hand covered three sheets, he couldn't place the writing, so it couldn't be anyone he knew. His eyes flowed over the mysterious letter.

_Sephiroth,_

_This letter contains highly classified information for your eyes alone. It pertains to your parentage and birth, please burn after reading…_

Sephiroth carefully re-folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. _His parentage and birth._ He forced his hand not to shake as he tucked the precious words inside his cloak. His eyes itched to devour whatever knowledge lay within the lined pages. He did not know if this was some sort of cruel jest, or lie, but Gaia help whoever tried to mock him. He forced his legs to carry him at his customary cool strides as he made his way back to his office.

…

Sephiroth leaned back in his chair after his third time reading the letter. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting the letter to say, but certainly not this. How could he have ever known the truth?

Jenova. He remembered old childhood memories he had created around that name -a woman with silver hair and soft eyes. When they carried him back to his 'room' from 'tests' in the labs he remembered curling up on his cot and imagining his mother, Jenova, running her fingers through his hair, softly singing away the pain. How his young self had clung to those daydreams, he thought riley. And now, if the letter where to be believed, everything he had every known or imaged about his parents was a lie. Jenova was an alien, a monster.

That younger part of Sephiroth that had never entirely out grown the need for those daydreams of his youth to be reality, fought against this 'truth.' Why should he believe some stranger? He didn't even know the writer's name, and years of mistrust fought against the idea of trusting a stranger's words. What dark motives did the writer have? How was the stranger planning to use him for his own end? The one lesson that had been drilled into Sephiroth's head over and over was that people used other people. They used him. He had learned not to trust –people were manipulative and selfish, fueled by greed and power.

His eyes traced the scrolled signature playing so innocently over the bottom right-hand corner of the page. 'Your friend.' No name beneath it. But Sephiroth didn't have friends -except for Angeal and Genesis—he couldn't afford them. And yet…

And yet he found a large part of himself wanting to believe the words. Craving their truth like a dying man craved cool water. If they were true then his blood would be free of Hojo's taint. He would rather share cells with a monster trying to destroy the world then have even a drop of that man's blood in his veins. Jenova was still only a name, though now a horrifying one, but Hojo, he was The Tormentor. The demon who had stalked Sephiroth's nightmares as a child, who still managed to make his skin itch from just _remembering_ the man's touch.

If the letter was true he had had a mother. Lucrecia Crescent. It didn't feel as if the writer knew much about his mother, and Sephiroth's adult mind was not likely to run into the arms of the woman who had used her own son as an experiment. But at least she had been real. At least he had more than just a name now.

Vincent Valentine. His father. Sephiroth didn't know if he would ever want to call any man father. That title had been twisted from the years of Hojo wearing it. But Sephiroth still wanted to meet the man, to know him in some way. What was he like? The writer had written as if he had known Vincent, but that would place the author's age about forty at the least, yet something in Sephiroth wanted his mysterious 'friend' to be his own age.

He quickly pushed the confusing thought aside, what did it matter? It didn't seem likely that he would ever meet the anonymous writer. But if he never had contact with the stranger again then he might never meet his father. He felt the anger and frustration he had originally pushed down when he realized the letter was not going to reveal his father's location. He had a right to know!

The letter had only hinted at some experiments Hojo had done upon Vincent, but the letter had clearly stated that Vincent was not dead. Sephiroth did not let feelings of abandonment or betrayal surface though. The author had said repeatedly that Vincent was unaware of Sephiroth's survival, but then the writer had used the word 'asleep' to describe Vincent's current existence. Sephiroth could only conclude it was related to the experiments Hojo had done.

Sephiroth needed to know where Vincent was! He had so many questions. Sephiroth didn't even realize when his thoughts had slipped passed his previous doubts; the usual barrier of suspicion was shattered. He had accepted the words as truth, now the question was –what to do with this new found truth?

A cold rage flooded Sephiroth when he thought of Hojo, but he wouldn't let himself act in haste. He had not forgotten Jenova, who Hojo still had control over. Sephiroth was vulnerable. According to the letter Jenova could use her cells in him to control him, to _use_ him. He was not going to be anyone's puppet. The unknown writer had warned him not to confront Hojo, but Sephiroth was not a fool, he knew he couldn't do that –yet. Soon though, he would make Hojo suffer for everything the man had done to him, his father, and his mother.

….

Cloud slipped into the cadet dorms, they were comfortably empty. This last week had seemed to drag by even slower than the last. Zack was still not back from Wutai, two weeks with no word, he could feel Kunsel's anxiety steadily mounting as the days slipped by. The SOLDIER had not let his fears for his friend spill into his lessons, but Cloud could see the tense line of his shoulders, and frowning hazel eyes slipping inward in worry.

Cloud had been unable to comfort Kunsel, though. The Second had kept his distance from Cloud in class, there was really no need to correct Cloud's stance or hand holds. Cloud had found himself missing the brief friendly interactions in his world of hostility. As Cloud continued to improve, the other cadets had become more desperate to beat him out of the program. Cloud had found himself bandaging bruised ribs and pulling out his cure materia on a daily basis. He was fortunate he had avoided any major injuries. They would have pulled him back in training, and he didn't fancy another trip to the hospital.

Last night though, had seen a new level of violence. He had been attacked in his sleep –a first. Cloud was up and swinging before the boys had a chance to land a blow. He had not escaped years of paranoid nights, waiting for Sephiroth or Shinra to find him, unscathed. Cloud Strife did not relax. The weeks of constant vigilance had spilled over to his sleeping conscious, and he had nearly broken the boy's neck who had jumped him.

It hadn't helped that he had been awakened from Zack's memory of fighting Angeal. He had been a mess all day, it was a good thing he didn't have any friends since he would have bitten their heads off if they'd so much as opened their mouth.

Today had been a pleasant surprise though. It was Saturday again, so that automatically made it a little bit better; he wouldn't have to deal with the other cadets. Cloud had been yearning to see Aeris again ever since teaching Kunsel the secrets of materia which Aeris in turn had taught Cloud. He hoped she wouldn't remember the distressed cadet who had run from her five weeks ago. He wanted to rest in her presence for at least a few bare moments, she always managed to take some of the pain away.

Cloud had planned to leave this morning, but had been surprised when Kunsel had found him in the dorms. He'd sought Cloud out for another spar which Cloud had eagerly accepted. Kunsel had been practicing with materia –a lot. He'd not only been able to handle level 3 spells with ease, but Kunsel's confidence in himself had increased, making him an even more formidable opponent.

Cloud didn't regret his decision to share the secrets of materia with Kunsel, especially after how much the Second had improved. Cloud couldn't remember when Kunsel had died. It had been after Zack and probably during Meteor. But Cloud would do whatever he could to save the SOLDIER this time. Kunsel had become more then a friend from Zack's memories, he was Cloud's friend as well.

Cloud pulled out his civilian clothes, dumping them on the bed. He was still sweaty from dueling with Kunsel, but he didn't have time to shower if he wanted to see Aeris today, he'd fit one in when he got back. It was already mid-afternoon and civilian clothes or no, Cloud didn't want to be caught in the slums after dark.

….

Cloud ran a hand through his messy spikes self-consciously before pushing into the familiar church. Aeris was not tending her garden; instead Cloud spotted her occupying one of the church benches munching on an apple. Her green eyes peeked at him over the top of punctured apple skin. She quickly pulled the fruit away, a drop of the clear juice sliding down her chin before she wiped it away with a shy giggle.

_So young._ Cloud had forgotten how far in the past he was, in this new world. Just like Zack, her youth and innocents bloomed out of her, shocking him. She had always been the wise one, her leafy orbs full of joy and peace yet threaded with loss as well. But the grief of time and death had not touched this Aeris. She was giving him a brilliant smile, "Hello again."

"Oh, you remember that?" Cloud rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before catching himself. Cloud could feel the piece of Zack in him stirring at the sight of her, but that was nothing new.

"Yes, are you alright now?"

"Hum," Cloud offered her a shrug, he didn't feel like lying. "I'd be a lot better if I could buy one of your flowers."

"Flowers don't cost money, silly." She said, jumping up from her seat to pluck a slender flower. She held it out for him; its pearly petals reaching up as if they wanted to kiss the sun. "Flowers are a gift."

He accepted the offered gift; giving her his own in reply –a slight smile.

"I knew you'd have a beautiful smile!" Aeris exclaimed. Cloud's lips quickly dropped back into their customary line, embarrassed at her attention. "I'm Aeris."

"Cloud."

"Cloud, that's a pretty name." He repressed a grimace. "You don't think so?" She laughed.

"It's fine." Cloud stood uncertainly for a moment, holding onto the precious gift. He didn't know what to say now, he wasn't her friend here. He was Cloud, the strange boy with a pretty name.

"I have to go now Cloud, my mother will be expecting me. But," she added when Cloud wasn't able to mask his disappointment, "You can come again if you want."

"Thanks Aeris, I'd like that."

She smiled at him again, "Goodbye Cloud."

He watched her until her slender body was swallowed by the shadows. He cradled her gift in his palm, before taking his leave. He missed her presence already and the innocents and hope in her eyes, but he would visit again. He knew she and Zack wouldn't meet for several months yet, but Cloud knew he wanted to see them both together. He had never seen Aeris and Zack happy together in life, but this time he would make sure they stayed alive.

Cloud had only taken a few steps out of the church before he felt eyes on him, and the next minute he was spinning around to face a familiar drawing voice. "Yo, I've seen you here before."

Reno was decked out in his Turk uniform, shirt hanging untucked, a shorter ponytail then Cloud remembered was swinging behind him. Reno had his nightstick out, casually resting on his shoulder. Cloud knew Reno must have been attempting to intimidate him, but this Reno was too much like the old for that trick to work.

The Turk swaggered forward, probably expecting the blond boy to go weak at the knees from having a Turk talking to him. Though Reno might have just thought Cloud would fall over from the mere sight of him, Turk suit or no. That was just how the red-head thought.

"Watcha doing around here kid, you don't live close."

"I-I don't know…" Cloud adopted the nervous stammer of an awed youth. "It was k-kind of an accident the first time, and then I…I…" Cloud forced a little heat into his pale cheeks and cast his eyes down shyly. "I just wanted to see Aeris again." He said in what he hoped sounded like a nervous teen crushing on a pretty girl.

"Humph, well she's out of your league kid, and I better not catch you hanging around here again, got it?" Reno pointed the nightstick at Cloud in warning. Cloud ducked his head, turning to shuffle off like a cowed boy.

"Hey what's your name yo?" Reno tossed out the question, but Cloud could easily see through the causally charade.

He had forgotten the Turk's had been watching Aeris, and cursed his own stupidity, though he probably would have risked it anyway just to see her again. He was just a fifteen year old boy after all, what was Reno so worried about? It seemed the Turks kept a _very_ tight eye on Aeris.

"Desmond," Cloud answered.

"OK Desmond, remember what I said. I don't want to see you around here anymore." Cloud nodded wordlessly before slouching off. He didn't let himself adopt his usual stride until he was out of Reno's sight. He was once again thankful for all the years spent in AVALANCHE. He'd had plenty of practice switching identities; he'd discovered he wasn't a half bad actor.

Even though Cloud had avoided giving himself away to Reno, he didn't know if he'd be able to visit Aeris again. He couldn't risk getting on the Turk's radar no matter how much he missed her. He could only hope he'd find a way to see her again after she met Zack.

All the temporary comfort that had come from seeing Aeris again –alive—was sucked away with the realization that it would be months before they'd next be able to meet. Cloud was in no mood to lock himself back up in the Shinra building yet. Midgar was no Edge, but at least it was a distraction.

Cloud decided to reacquaint himself with the slums; you never knew when such knowledge could save your life. It was a surreal experience. He had become so used to the crumbling buildings and twisted beams, but he was able get a general idea of where he was. He fell into Zack's memories, piecing together a picture of Midgar today.

It was the sky that threw him the most, even more then walking through what used to be a city of dead. He missed the clear azure. He wanted to feel the warmth of the sun in his hair, caressing his cheek, but when he looked up there was only a blanket of smog clocking –choking- the sky.

Cloud's feet paused outside a tattoo and piercing parlor. The glass windows were covered in popular tattoo designs. Big green letters were scrawled across the door proclaiming the fares:

Piercing

Ear: 100 Gil

Cloud pulled out his thin wallet. He had the money, but as much as he wanted to feel the familiar weight in his left lobe, he didn't step into the shop. It was stupid, he knew, but he had some silly idea of Zack hauling him off to get his ear pierced for the 'first time.' He could just see Zack's toothy grin, and hear the man's voice. It was so clear it hurt. Zack joking with him, ruffling his spikes as he always used to do…

Cloud shook the picture away. _What are you 12?_ But as hard as he tried to silence the secret desire, it clung on stubbornly. Cloud turned his back to the shop; he couldn't get the piercing now. It wouldn't be _right _without Zack there, not when Zack was alive. Besides, he should be saving his meager cadet allowance. He didn't know if he'd make it into SOLDIER, he might be forced to go into hiding or something. It was best to be prepared.

_Besides_ _he had to save up for his sword. _Cloud snorted to himself. As if he'd ever be able to save enough Gil for another First Tsurugi, even without the special materials from Ultimate WEAPON. _Stop being so depressing! You'll find a way, somehow._

Cloud let the inner dialogue fade way as he spotted two of his fellow cadets stumbling out of a local bar. They were hanging off each other as they wobbled and tripped their way down the street. It was still late afternoon, only drunks and teenagers out for a good time got sloshed before the sun set. Cloud recognized them both as full time members of the 'harass Strife club.' Carl Hammerson and Frank something or other, Cloud didn't really care.

He was about to turn way when he noted their three shadows. Two thickly built men and another lanky one with cunning eyes were following the boys out of the bar. Cloud could bet the boys hadn't been able to hold their drink and had managed to insult the local patronages royally. He thought he remembered something about Frank's father being a man of means. Cloud paid little attention to his fellow cadets, only focusing on how to avoid them.

The boys were unaware of their tails even though the men were not bothering to hide their intended targets. _And they wanted to be SOLDIERS?_ Cloud pushed down his rising annoyance. He couldn't just leave the cadets in the men's mercy. He could kill the three men without blinking, but he couldn't turn his back on someone in needed of help –he had not fallen that far yet.

Tifa used to say he was a protector by nature, a _hero_. How he hated that word. She had no idea, and would probably be horrified if she knew what thoughts Cloud entertained in his twisted mind. Hero's didn't let their friends die. Hero's wouldn't trade the world for just an hour with the dead.

The three trackers jumped the boys after a few more turns, dragging them into an alley. The lanky male had pulled a wicked looking knife, and Cloud's very unheroic thought before stabbing his own into the man's throat was how nice the blade would fit in his hand.

The two muscled attackers dropped the dazed and shrieking boys, turning to meet the threat. One of them swung a punch at Cloud's face. Cloud easily dogged it and slipped his knife into the man's back, right between the ribs. He gave the blade a sharp twist before whirling to meet the third man's charge.

Cloud wasn't quite fast enough to escape the fist colliding with his gut, but he braced his abs and absorbed the hit without losing his feet. He almost tripped on the sprawled limbs of the two downed cadets. They were watching the fight with wide frightened eyes. Cloud absently noted that one of them had pissed himself in fright, before he propelled himself into the air. He twisted his body, causing his powerful kick to knock the last man flat on his back. Cloud had sunk his knife into the man's heart before he could scream.

Cloud didn't spare the stunned cadets another glace. He didn't want to see The Look. He prayed he'd never been guilty of looking at Zack that way. But Zack didn't murder men in dark alleys with knives he'd stolen from other murdered men.

Cloud didn't look at his hands as he picked up his new knife. He didn't want to see the blood on them. Just as he'd thought, this second weapon slid perfectly into his hand, it was fine workmanship. Cloud slipped the blade into his shirt. He felt more like himself with two weapons. He was used to being a walking arsenal.

Cloud's fingers sifted through the dead men's pockets. He was surprised to find a large wad of Gil on the skinny man's. Drug dealer? He mentally shrugged, stuffing the Gil into his pockets. He crushed the coiling disgust at his own actions. He couldn't afford to be moral; the fate of the planet was in his bloodied hands. He had to be practical; if he was forced to run from Shinra someday he'd need all the Gil he could get. At least he wasn't running around picking pockets –not yet at least.

"Strife?" Carl Hammerson's shaky voice reminded him of the two witnesses. He looked at the boys. Neither of them had pulled themselves up from the filthy alley floor yet, but their eyes were looking more focused. The pleasant haze of drunkenness had been shocked out of them.

They both had The Look in their eyes. They were being force to see the little cadet they had picked on for weeks in a different light. Cloud had ruthlessly killed three grown men right before their eyes, and didn't look like he was about to hurl up his lunch in the aftershock.

"Why did you save us?" Frank finally managed, but Cloud could hear the fear in the boy's voice. Cloud never took any pleasure from hearing that note of fear in another's voice when they were speaking to _him_. He didn't relish the feel of his power over their weakness, it sickened him.

He looked away. "They would have killed you. No matter what you've done to me, you didn't deserve death."

"We're sorry… about before." Frank was biting his lip and looking everywhere but at Cloud.

"I don't care what you say about me, but you are going to stop mucking up Kunsel's name, got it? He has nothing to do with this, and if you cared about your health you should leave him alone. He's friends with Zack Fair, our instructor, they're both SOLDIERs and SOLDIERs don't make good enemies. Zack Fair's mentor is also Commander Hawley, and you both know Hawley's friends with the General, but hey, it's your funeral." Cloud knew none of the men he'd just mention were going to hurt the cadets, but _they_ didn't know that.

Cloud saw the blood leave the two boy's faces as they cast each other horrified looks mouthing 'Sephiroth.' "O-OK we g-got it, and we'll t-tell the other boys too." Frank finally managed to stutter out.

Cloud just shrugged. He knew the boys would spread the word, but he had a feeling there would also be a few rumors about today's incident. He told himself he didn't care, but that lie wasn't altogether successful. "Can you two make it back to the dorms?"

They both nodded and Cloud turned his back on them without another glance, more than ready to leave the alley and the three dead bodies behind.

….

By the time Cloud settled down to eat his breakfast alone –as usual—on Monday morning, the bullying and harassment had come to a grinding stop. Cloud pretended not to notice all the sneaked glances, and open stares.

A few of the 'tougher' boys actually tried to befriend Cloud during the coming week. They marched over to Cloud's empty table at lunch on Tuesday, surrounding him with their food trays. Five minutes latter Cloud had lost his appetite. They wanted to talk about the 'fight.' Some of them bragged about killing a man before, Cloud doubted any of them had. They all came from middle class families and had adopted the mantel of 'bad boys' because they thought it was cool. Cloud made himself sit through all of five minutes of conversation, before he couldn't stomach any more.

By the end of the week Cloud had gone from that 'little coward Strife' to 'Strife the arrogant bastard' because he didn't talk to the other boys. Cloud didn't care though, as long as they left Kunsel's name alone and let him get some sleep without being jumped, they could call him whatever they liked.


	7. Chapter 7

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 7

Kunsel watched Zack, concern etched in his hazel eyes. He had never seen Zack like this before. Kunsel had felt the knot of fear for his friend growing as the weeks passed and still no word had come from Wutai. He knew Zack had been sent on a highly classified mission, but he hated this not knowing. He felt in his bones that something had gone wrong, but he had not been able to get any news on Zack's statues. A little over a month since Zack had left for Wutai Kunsel had opened his apartment door to find a worn looking Zack Fair standing on the other side. Kunsel had bitten off any complaints he might had made about Zack not calling him the minute he got back. Zack's eyes had frozen the words on Kunsel's tongue and he had followed Zack back to his apartment in silence.

Zack had not thrown himself over his couch as he usually did, instead quietly sinking into the side, keeping his eyes downcast. Kunsel had abandoned his chair and worriedly seated himself next to his withdrawn friend. If he had been worried before, he was now bordering on terrified. He couldn't imagine what had caused this abrupt change; it was nothing like the Zack he knew. It was painful to watch, and he wanted to pull the dejected spirit into his arms, but he hesitated, unsure of Zack's reaction.

Finally Zack broke the tense silence, "Angeal's gone."

"I am so sorry Zack," Kunsel whispered after a shocked silence. Angeal _dead_, it was inconceivable. Commander Helwey always seemed so… permanent.

"How could he do this to me? No, I don't believe it, _I can't_. Sephiroth is wrong, Angeal would never abandon me!" Zack was glaring furiously at the carpet, his hands fisted in his uniform.

Kunsel was confused, but he needed to comfort his friend, "I don't believe Commander Helwey would abandon you Zack, not on purpose, but sometimes the ones we care about are taken away and…"

Zack looked at Kunsel in horror, "Angeal's not dead! He…he left with Genesis, at least that's what Sephiroth thinks but I can't believe…" Zack broke off, his voice choking with emotion.

Kunsel cautiously put an arm around Zack, and was surprised when Zack immediately turned into the embrace, burying his head in Kunsel's shoulder. "Would it help to talk about?"

Zack nodded mutely but remained silent for another long moment encased in Kunsel's arms, before he found his voice.

Kunsel was disturbed by the discovery of the Genesis clones. He had heard the rumors about experiments done on humans, but had never believed them –few did. As terrifying as the prospect of human clones was, it was too late to hide behind pretty lies now. Kunsel didn't want to believe Angeal would betray Zack and SOLDIER, but the other possibility was Angeal had been taken against his will by whoever made the clones. Neither option would comfort Zack. The idea of Angeal being experimented on was not going to make Zack feel any better.

"I don't know what happened to Angeal, but we're going to do everything we can to find him and bring him back, OK Zack?" Kunsel allowed his hand to rub the length of Zack's spine, feeling guilty over how much he was enjoying the closeness.

Zack sighed heavily and slowly pulled away from his friend. Zack offered him a small smile, "Thanks Kunsel. I am going to find him; I know he'll come back if only I could talk to him. I just wish I knew what was going on."

"We'll figure it out Zack."

"I know," Zack's smile grew wider and Kunsel was relieved to see some of the shadows leave his eyes, but he couldn't help noticing tight lines around Zack's eyes and lips that had not been there a month ago.

"So, anything new happen while I was gone?" Zack steered the conversation away, and Kunsel let him. Talking wasn't going to resolve Zack's worry.

"Well…" Kunsel drew out the word, knowing just the thing to distract Zack. "I can cast a level 3 fire spell, bolt, and ice; actually I can cast a level 3 anything." He watched the disbelief flicker over Zack's face.

"But you…how, when?" Zack stuttered out.

Kunsel shrugged, "It just kind of happened one day. I was practicing by myself and getting more and more frustrated and then BAM, a level 3 fire was shooting out of my hand."

"Just like that?"

"Yep, just like that," Kunsel hated lying to Zack, but he'd given his word he wouldn't tell anyone, not even Zack. He hoped that one day the deception would not be required and Cloud could teach Zack the secret of materia himself, but until then Kunsel would hold to his word.

"I have to see this." Zack was already up and heading for the door before Kunsel stopped him.

"Zack wait! You just got back, you should get some rest. I'll show off all you like tomorrow."

Zack leveled a frown at him and Kunsel was painfully aware that it lacked the usual puppy-dog eyes. Zack's face was not adorably pouty. Kunsel saw the flash of something almost desperate in his friend's eyes. "Please Kunsel, it would help me…" Zack looked away. "I don't want to rest and… _think_."

"I know, but you are tired. You look exhausted Zack. I'll stay as long as you want. I don't want to see you driving yourself into the ground."

Zack sighed, "You promise you'll stay?"

"As long as you want me."

Zack nodded, "OK," he ran a hand over his face, "I am tried, it's just…"

"You don't have to explain."

"That's why you're my best friend, man." Zack flashed a weary smile, which Kunsel returned. "I am going to lie down, see if I can doze off. You don't mind talking to me or something." Zack rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Of course I don't." Kunsel tried not to reveal his own nervousness as he followed Zack into the SOLDIER's bedroom. It was times like this when he hated himself for feeling more for Zack then just friendship. Zack was trusting him, revealing his own insecurity's to Kunsel. It could not have been easy for him to show how much Angeal's disappearance was affecting him.

Zack pulled back the bed covers and slipped under, only pausing to kick off his boots. Kunsel moved over to the sole chair in Zack's bedroom, but Zack stopped him. "Don't be an idiot Kunsel; your ass will go numb after ten minutes on that thing, piece of junk I should just throw it out." Zack patted the place next to him on the bed.

Kunsel slowly took off his own boots, telling his mind to shut the hell up. Zack would never allow him in his bed if he knew the thoughts running about Kunsel's head. Kunsel lay back on the bed, keeping the barrier of bed covers between them, and trying not to feel awkward.

"So…" Zack broke off with a wide yawn, "How has teaching been going? The cadets been keeping their mouths shut?"

"Yeah, it's been really quiet lately. I asked Cloud last week if something had happened. He didn't seem to want to talk about it, all he said was that I didn't have to worry about rumors anymore, he'd 'taken care of it.'" Kunsel had turned onto his side and propped his head on his elbow so he could look at Zack.

Zack was frowning, "I thought you weren't going to talk to Cloud anymore."

"Well I wasn't but then I ran into him a few weeks ago and we talked…about a lot of things."

"Oh," Kunsel saw Zack had caught on. "What did he say?"

"He didn't give me a definite answer, but Zack…" Kunsel's eyes darkened with the memory of the anguish in Cloud's eyes as he pleaded with him. "Its something serious, I am worried for Cloud. I think he's in some kind of trouble, he knows something, something dangerous. I promised him I would keep my suspicious to myself. I don't know what's happening, but I am not sure I _want_ to know."

"If the kid's in danger we have to do something Kunsel." Zack protested, "He's just a cadet…"

"No Zack, he's not just a cadet. I don't know what he is anymore, but it's not that."

Zack looked like he was about to protest again, but Kunsel cut him off, "I asked Cloud what he would do if you or I alerted a superior to his strange jump in ability. I asked him what he would do if he was questioned. He said if he was forced to choose between SOLDIER and keeping whatever he's hiding, he'd choose his secrets. But he said Shinra probably wouldn't leave it at that. Zack, he thought they would have him killed." Kunsel let that settle in before adding, "And I think they really would."

Zack's expression darkened and Kunsel could only guess at what was running through his friend's head. He wondered if he should have waited to broach the subject of Cloud Strife until Zack was more like himself, but Zack would be teaching Cloud's class tomorrow and Kunsel didn't know what Zack would do. Kunsel was surprised by the feelings of protectiveness he felt for the boy. Something terrible had happened to Cloud and Kunsel wanted to do everything he could to save Cloud from more pain.

"I trust him Zack. If you saw what I did… I just don't know anymore. But I know I want to help him, and if I can do that by keeping my mouth shut, then that's what I am going to do."

Zack didn't answer for a long moment but then, "If you really trust him then I agree we shouldn't bring him to the attention of others. Besides, who would I tell now?" The last was a breath, but Kunsel heard. He let Zack believe he hadn't caught the wistful words. It was unfortunate luck that the one person Zack was most likely to mention Cloud too was no longer a possibility. "But I want to speak to Cloud myself. If we are going to keep this quiet I want a clear reason why."

Kunsel sighed, he supposed he should be thankful Zack was not going to tell others about Cloud's unexplainable abilities, but he doubted Zack was going to get what he wanted. "Well I am not going to try and stop you, though I doubt you'll get anything out of him. But wait until Saturday will you? We don't want to have this conversation in class. I've actually been training with Cloud on the weekend, so that would be a good time."

"Have you?" He thought Zack looked disapproving of this development.

"Yes well, it wasn't planned we just ran into each other and were both feeling a bit lonely." Kunsel looked away in embarrassment.

"I am sorry…."

"Its not your fault," Kunsel waved off the apology.

"I guess I can wait for the weekend, its only two days anyway."

Kunsel smiled his thanks, and Zack let his dark head sink back into his pillow. "You know, that didn't help me fall asleep at all." Zack was giving him a teasing look that made Kunsel's heart jumped before he could stop it.

"I'll try to be more boring."

"You do that," Zack eyelashes slid closed lazily, and Kunsel had to swallow down the something building in his chest at the sight.

….

Zack had kept his word to Kunsel and waiting until Saturday to confront Cloud. It was hard, especially after he'd seen what one month had done for the boy. He'd had a hard time not staring at Cloud during training. Cloud was more than just a talented cadet now. The boy must have been working hard to gain so much strength and endurance in such a short time.

Kunsel had moved the class up to real practice swords while Zack had been away. Usually cadets had to wait a few more months before they got to handle a real sword, but Zack was not objecting to the jump in pace when he saw Cloud with the cool metal blade in his hand. No, Cloud Strife was not just a cadet, Kunsel was right. The boy could _move_. Everything about the boy screamed hardened warrior, which just wasn't possible. Zack finally understood the serious look in Kunsel's eyes. It was impossible for Cloud to have gone from clumsy, shy, country boy to this… breathing Weapon.

Zack was used to being around trained warriors, but Cloud was something else. In a strange way the boy reminded him a little of General Sephiroth. Zack didn't know the General well, but he could see the similarities between the two. The way they held themselves, the wary eyes never ceasing their constant vigilance, and strangely, the air of practiced suspicion as if expecting hidden intent in every word. The boy was as paranoid and cautious as a hardened veteran -a veteran that had spent time in a Wutai prison.

It wasn't hard to understand what Kunsel hadn't been able to put into words, but instead of putting Zack off questioning the boy it only drove his need to know all the more. Something was wrong, and while he understood Kunsel wanting to protect Cloud from unwanted eyes and attention, Zack was equally motivated to discover what had caused this dramatic change in the boy.

Zack's finger was now tapping impatiently on his elbow as he watched Kunsel and Cloud spar. When they had collected the boy for training, Zack had noted the flash of _something_ in Cloud's eyes when they settled on Zack standing beside Kunsel in the empty hall. He wasn't sure what it had been. Cloud had quickly settled his face back into the impassive expression Zack was accustomed to seeing on the youth's face now. But it had been there, one more mystery to unravel.

Kunsel and Cloud had been going at it for a good twenty minutes already. Zack was prepared to be impressed by Cloud, but the sheer skill the boy demonstrated when faced with a real opponent had shocked Zack. He had also been stunned by Kunsel's skill. Kunsel had told him he'd started casting some serious magic –finally—but Zack had not had a chance to see his friend in action yet. Zack had been prepared for a few spells but nothing like this.

Kunsel had always been decent with a sword, but always been just a little bit behind the other SOLDIERS. Zack felt guilty sometimes for convincing Kunsel to turn down the Turks, Kunsel had had the heart of a SOLDIER, but Zack had feared his friend would never have the skill. He'd been ecstatic when Kunsel had made Second, Zack had begun to fear his friend would never make it, not with his poor performance with materia. But all these doubts and fears were swept away in one spar. Kunsel was _magnificent_. He shot spells off like he'd been doing it for years, but more than this was the new confidence flowing out of his body. Zack had never seen him fight even half this skillfully before, and he knew he was wearing a proud grin as he watched.

When Cloud Strife, the _cadet_, had seamlessly blocked one of Kunsel's level 3 spells and then shot one of his own at Kunsel, Zack's mouth had fallen open. _Impossible._ Zack had watched the pair, torn between pride, awe at the beauty of them, and frustrated impatience. He wanted to keep watching them for hours, but he was also dying for some answers.

Nothing was making sense anymore. Zack hated this awful feeling of not knowing. Angeal and the human clones had been disturbing Zack, and he wasn't able to banish his worry and lingering anger away no matter how hard he tried. But now there was also Cloud Strife, and even _Kunsel_ to add to the list of things being hidden from him. Zack couldn't believe this dramatic improvement in Kunsel's ability had 'just happened' and he had a nagging suspicion Cloud had something to do with it.

Zack suddenly spun around, crashing his fist into the training room wall. He_ hated_ being lied to. _Why couldn't they just tell him! _

Zack was a little horrified at his own laps of control. _When had he become so angry?_ He pulled his fist back and examined the hole he had just punched through the steel wall.

"Zack?" He turned, a guilty look on his face. Kunsel had broken off the spar, his eyes bleeding concern as he hurried over to Zack. "You're hurt!"

Zack looked down at his hand in surprise. Kunsel grabbed the bloody hand, immediately checking for broken bones. "It doesn't look like you broke anything… Cloud there's a medical kit in the far cabinet, bottom shelf." Cloud gave a silent nod, giving Zack another look he couldn't understand, before running towards the cabinet.

"I am fine Kunsel," Zack tried to tug his hand away, but Kunsel didn't let go.

"No you're not Zack. You just punched a wall!" Zack looked away. "What's wrong? Is it…Angeal?"

Zack shrugged, "Yes…no… why did you lie to me?"

Kunsel's brow creased, "What do you mean?"

"The materia, you lied." Kunsel dropped Zack's hand, hazel eyes sliding away.

"Zack, I…" Kunsel's voice trailed off, and Zack knew he had been right. His friend had lied to his face.

"It's my fault, I made Kunsel promise not to tell," both SOLDIERS's turned to look at Cloud. The boy was clutching the med-kit in a death grip. "I was afraid of what would happen to Kunsel if word got around."

"It was Cloud who taught me, Zack." Kunsel's voice was a whisper. "I wanted to tell you but…"

"It's my fault," Cloud insisted again, "What I taught Kunsel about materia is not common knowledge. There are only a handful of people now living who know what I told you Kunsel."

Kunsel looked shocked, and while Zack was surprised Cloud could have such rare knowledge, he still wanted to know what the hell was going on. He could see the understanding in Cloud's eyes, Zack had never been particularly good at hiding his emotions, he didn't see the need.

"Perhaps we should save that lesson for later?" Cloud asked.

"You're going to teach me too?" Zack asked in surprise.

"Of course Zack," again that _something_ in Cloud's eyes as he looked at Zack, "But we can do it latter if you like."

"Yes," Zack could practically taste the tension rolling off Cloud; the boy must have realized Zack wanted answers. Was Cloud this tense when Kunsel had talked with him? "Kunsel told me what you talked about, Cloud, and I have agreed not to mention you to other SOLDIERS. However, I need more than that. I need to know what's going on, Cloud. You can trust Kunsel and me not to tell anyone. Kunsel thinks you are in danger?" Cloud looked away, so Zack plowed on, "We want to help you Cloud. Can't you just tell us?"

"I can't, I am sorry Zack." Zack was surprised to hear raw emotion in the boy's voice. Cloud was always so collected and cool, but his voice had nearly cracked on Zack's name. _Was he crying?_ Zack couldn't see any wetness in the boy's eyes, though. "You can't help me. This is something I have to do alone."

"I can't believe that. Cloud, you are obviously very skilled, but you are skill only fifteen! Why are you refusing our help? Do you not trust us?"

"I trust you; I'd trust you with my life. But this is different, I can't…" Cloud made a choking sound, but his bright sapphire eyes remained tearless. "Please Zack…"

Cloud took a step forward making a reaching motion as if he wanted Zack to hold him. Zack was confused by the tearing emotions in blue eyes; he barely knew Cloud, but no one could remain unmoved when receiving such a look. He was about to pull the boy to him, but Cloud dropped his arm limply. Zack wasn't sure if was still allowed to hug the boy, even if he looked like he needed it more than ever. Cloud looked so defeated. He shared a worried look with Kunsel, but Cloud's soft voice pulled their attention back to the dejected figure. "I am just trying to protect you, both of you. Please, don't be angry with me."

Zack shook off his hesitancy and crushed the golden-haired boy to his chest. Cloud let out a surprised noise, instinctively trying to pull away from the contact, but Zack held on. After a long moment, Cloud let some of the stiffness drain from his limbs and two small hands settled on Zack's back uncertainly. Zack was assaulted by the thought that Cloud hadn't been hugged for a very long time, so long he had forgotten how. Zack didn't know where the knowledge came from, but it caused him to press Cloud closer to his chest.

"I am not angry with you Cloud. I was just frustrated because you wouldn't tell me, and I wanted to help you. I still want you to tell me, but I am not angry, OK Spiky?" He ruffled some of the soft spikes. Cloud's throat made that strange sobbing sound again, that wasn't a sob because his eyes remained stubbornly dry. It was a little disturbing, but then there were many disturbing things Zack had noticed about Cloud Strife.

"I just hate not knowing." Zack lamented.

"I know Zack, but I promise I'll tell you one day, if you still want the truth by then." _I'll tell you Zack, but not everything. Some hurts cut too deep, and some truths are better left in the past. _

"Of course he'll still want to know, its Zack Fair." Kunsel's voice cut through the tension, and Zack let out a little laugh.

"Well there you go, Cloud." Zack finally loosened his hold on the boy, and Cloud pulled away, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about Cloud, everyone needs a good hug once in a while."

A smile tugged up the corner of Cloud's mouth. "Thanks Zack."

"That's better! Alright, I don't know about you two, but I need a drink. You want to come Spiky?"

Cloud hesitated a moment, whatever he was thinking was locked behind cool eyes again, and Zack could almost believe he had imaged the last ten minutes. Cloud quickly decided his secret internal debate, "I'd like that."

….

Cloud listened to the teasing banter Kunsel and Zack tossed at each other. A piece of Cloud's chest hurt as he selfishly wished it was _him_ sharing that easy friendship with Zack, but the rest of him stuffed the desire away and concentrated on basking in the two SOLDIER's easy presence. Cloud hadn't said much since leaving the training room, but he supposed it was too much to ask for Cloud Strife to just relax and have a casual conversation.

He picked up his drink again and watched as Zack pushed Kunsel playfully, almost causing the Second to slip off the booth bench. Zack had picked a rowdy little bar with excellent drinks and shady customers. Cloud felt right at home.

He'd ordered his favorite drink; the one Tifa knew how to make just right with that extra dash of sour. If Cloud closed his eyes and swirled the heady liquor over his tongue he could almost image he was back in Seventh Heaven. Cloud cocked his head to the side, lost in his imaginings. That laugh sounded a bit like Denzel's, that voice sounded a bit like Tifa's chiding. His ears strained for Vincent's low tones, but none had his unique aged quality, sliding over your ears like good wine down your throat.

"Hey Cloud you in there?" Cloud's eyes snapped open to see Kunsel's curious almond eyes watching him.

"Yeah, just thinking." _What was wrong with him?_ He finally had what he'd been craving for months –Zack sitting across from him, giving him a friendly smile, though the eyes weren't looking at him as _his_ Zack's did… _Enough!_ It should be enough that this Zack was here with him, he was being selfish wishing for more.

"You sure you're OK?" A note of concern had wedged itself in Kunsel's voice.

"Of course he's not OK!" Shot in Zack, "He's sitting here_ thinking_ when he should be flirting with pretty girls. Am I right Cloud?" Zack winked at him, and Cloud couldn't stop the smile forcing its way to his lips. It was so Zack, the lines between the new and old blending for this one perfect moment.

"You're smiling so I am taking that as a yes!" Zack flung his arm up, almost smacking Kunsel in the head. Kunsel gave Zack an evil look, but Zack just smirked at him.

"See anything you like Cloud?" Zack gestured about the room dramatically.

"If he wants a hooker," Kunsel mumbled into his drink and received a slap on his bronze curls for the comment.

"Insulting fine ladies, Kunsel!"

Cloud glanced around the room, trying not to show his utter disinterest. "Um…" He had to agree with Kunsel, there didn't seem to be any girls that were not in the sex trade, not like he cared though.

"Maybe he doesn't like girls Zack." Kunsel was giving Cloud a knowing look, but Cloud just shrugged. He was no longer embarrassed by his preference as he once had been. It didn't make any difference though, male or female, he knew he wouldn't be sharing anything with a stranger. He had sought relief with Vincent over the years, but sex just for the pleasure of it was a foreign concept to Cloud.

"Doesn't really matter, I am not in the mood." He thought that would put an end to the discussion, but Zack let out a surprised sound.

"Not in the mood? You're a teenager Cloud, how is that possible?"

Cloud frowned. He was not comfortable talking about _this_ with anyone. "I don't have sex with strangers." He decided for part of the truth.

"That's understandable," agreed Kunsel. Zack looked like he was going to say something more, but Kunsel put a hand on his arm giving a discreet shake of his head.

Zack settled for a sigh and ran his own eyes over the current female population. An auburn haired girl in a familiar blue suit was just entering the bar. Zack began shoving Kunsel off the bench. "Hurry Kunsel, let me out!"

"Calm down Zack," Kunsel slipped out of the booth calmly, almost falling when Zack barreled passed him, heading straight for the new arrival, smoothing out his shirt as he went.

Kunsel turned to see what had caught Zack's attention and Cloud watched the frown darken hazel eyes as he spotted the Turk. Kunsel abruptly turned away as Zack reached the girl, a dazzling smile on his face.

Cloud recognized the girl from Zack's memories as Cissnei the Turk who had helped Zack and him when they had been running for their lives. Cloud wondered what Kunsel had against the girl. She was a Turk, but Kunsel had never seemed like the kind of SOLDIER who disliked Turks simply because they were Turks. She had seemed like a nice girl from Zack's memories, but he hadn't realized Zack had been attracted to her. Cloud knew it shouldn't be a surprise that Zack had had crushes and girlfriends before Aeris, but he had never really thought about it. Cloud couldn't imagine Zack with anyone but Aeris, they had been so much in love, even death could not erode their bond.

Cloud watched Zack flirt shamelessly with Cissnei. She did not look interested though, and Cloud felt sorry for him. Sure enough Zack was soon making his way back to their booth, a dejected look on his face. Kunsel scooted over for him without comment, and Zack slumped back onto the bench.

"She's got a boyfriend."

"Oh, who?" Cloud could hear the forced interest in Kunsel's question, and he wondered again what Kunsel had against the Turk.

"Wouldn't say," Zack sighed.

"Hum," was Kunsel's only comment, and Cloud couldn't think of anything to say either.

They sat in silence for a long moment, nursing their drinks. Cloud was determined to contribute to the conversation, and was trying to think of something interesting to say. He was sparred having to say anything when Kunsel broke the silence, apparently having searched more successfully for a conversation starter.

"Hey Zack, you said you saw General Sephiroth in Wutai, you didn't get to see him fighting did you?"

This plucked Zack out of his brooding thoughts, "Actually I did. I was battling a summons creature, and I thought I'd finished it off, but then it was back up and I got scorched with a fire spell. Next thing I know Sephiroth's there, and he kills it with _one_ slash from Masamune. It was awesome!"

"I've never seen him fight," Kunsel sighed wistfully. Cloud didn't say anything, finding his glass fascinating.

"So what was it like to actually talk to him? I've seen him from a distance and sometimes in the halls, but to actually talk to him…"

Zack's expression darkened, "It wasn't exactly a pleasant conversation."

Kunsel cringed, "Sorry Zack I didn't mean…"

"It's OK. I guess it was kind of thrilling. I know some people think he's really arrogant, but he wasn't with me. I was even arguing with him about… well, he didn't get angry. It was almost as if, he understood."

"Well he was their friend wasn't he? At least that's what I heard." Kunsel added.

"I didn't really think about that, but I guess he might have been. They are all First's so they must have known each other." Zack suddenly buried his head in his hands, "I told him he didn't know what he was talking about! I thought I knew Angeal better than anyone. I am such an idiot."

"He'll understand," two mako-enhanced eyes looked at Cloud in surprise. He should have kept his mouth shut, but he hated seeing Zack in such distress. "Well, if Sephiroth really was their friend he would have been experiencing similar emotions as you, so he would have understood where you were coming from…and you said he wasn't angry with you…" Cloud trailed off, under the two gazes.

Zack surprised him by offering a thankful smile, "Maybe he did. You know, you're a smart kid Spiky." Cloud just blinked at him, "You haven't seen the General have you?"

_Don't say it!_ "Yes." _Why was it so damn hard to lie to Zack?_

"Really?" Zack raised a brow.

"I saw him training the day I ran into you Kunsel."

"You saw him training, what was he like?" Kunsel asked.

Cloud shouldn't have been surprised by how eagerly the two SOLDIERs pursued the conversation on their General, but Cloud had forgotten Zack had not always been Sephiroth's friend.

"It was beautiful, perfect." He certainly was not going to tell them what he'd really seen that day. He wasn't going to tell them he thought their hero was missing his two friends terribly, enough for the emotion to show on Sephiroth's usually impassive features.

"I bet he was. Did he have his hair down? He did when I saw him. I wonder if he always fights with it down, you'd think it would get in the way." Zack mused.

"He had it down."

"I bet he was beautiful." Zack blurted out. Zack immediately flushed under their surprised looks. "What? Can't I appreciate a beautiful man too?"

"But you've never…" began Kunsel.

"Yeah, I like girls, but if there was one man to tempt me it would be Sephiroth. But its_ Sephiroth_, who hasn't thought about it?" Zack shrugged, looking away embarrassed, missing the emotions ripping through Kunsel's eyes, but Cloud saw them.

Cloud watched the stark evidence of Kunsel's heart play over his face. He had seen that look of hopeless longing before, and he hated knowing Kunsel's love would never be returned. Cloud could only imagine the agony of knowing the man you were in love with would never look at you, had admitted to lusting after another man and only one other man. But perhaps, if it were not for Aeris…

Zack said he would never be interested in men –Sephiroth the exception—but Cloud knew of one other male Zack would share his body with –him

.

Cloud rarely knew the purpose behind Hojo's endless experiments, and had given up trying to understand them, concentrating on just surviving. What Cloud's sexual responses had to do with cloning, Cloud had no idea. Maybe they had nothing to do with it and Hojo just wanted to see if having him strapped down to a metal table and penetrated would break him.

Hojo had Zack taken out of his mako tank, Zack rarely escaped the burning green liquid now, since he had been termed a failure, his body utterly rejecting the cloning procedure. The sick scientist had gloatingly explained what he wanted Zack to do to the helpless Cloud. Zack had been outraged and attempted to attack Hojo –not for the first time—but the mako-weakened SOLDIER had been restrained, Hojo was never lax on security which was why it took Zack four years to break them out.

Hojo, not affected the least by Zack's reaction, had simply scribbled some notes on his clipboard and ordered in one of the scientists to perform the 'experiment.' Cloud wasn't sure if Hojo knew what his assistants did when he was not in attendance. Given the size of the head start Zack had managed after killing the lab assistant when he and Cloud had escaped, Cloud assumed Hojo wasn't keeping 24-hour surveillance on his test subjects. Whether Hojo knew how the other scientists solved their problems of sexual frustration, Cloud didn't know, but he doubted Hojo would have cared either way. The scientists were human –though Cloud often doubted this fact over the years—and more than one found a convenient way to relieve their sexual frustration built up over the months of occupying the decaying old mansion. The experiments, or more specifically Specimen C, became the favorite vehicle for that relief.

When Cloud's mako-hazed brain finally registered how Hojo was planning to carry out the experiment, he panicked. He couldn't endure the sickening touches again. Not from hands that wielded the knifes that cut him open, hands that pushed the needles into his skin, hands that locked him into the green tubes of pain. He couldn't bear to have this part of him coldly taken again. He had already lost his innocents to those hands; he could not stand to have them touching him_, in him_, while all the pitiless eyes looked on.

Cloud had turned desperate, wild-eyes on Zack and_ begged_ his friend to take him. To save him from the hands. Zack had looked at him, and Cloud had felt such shame for his own weakness, for what he had just asked Zack to do. Zack's eyes had been filled with his own torment; the young SOLDIER had not been able to hitch that reassuring smile onto his lips –not this time. Cloud had opened his mouth to take back the selfish request, but Zack voiced his own assent before the words had formed on Cloud's tongue.

Zack had been led over to Cloud, strapped down on the cold table, and Cloud had finally gotten the words out. He begged Zack to forgive him over and over. He was sorry, so sorry. Cloud told him he didn't have to do this, that Cloud knew he was in love with Aeris and it had been wrong to ask.

He didn't stop apologizing as Zack climbed shakily up onto the table, and their naked clammy flesh touched. Cloud didn't stop his tearful words until Zack silenced them with warm lips. It had been Cloud's first kiss. Zack's lips had been so soft and gentle, confusing Cloud and silencing his distressed apologies.

When Zack had pulled his lips away he'd whispered in Cloud's ear. "Shh Spiky, I am not blaming you, but we're not going to let them control us in this too. I am not going to use you for Hojo's 'experiments' I am going to _make love to you_.

It had been beautiful. For those few precious moments in a nightmare of pain, the stark whiteness of the labs had faded away. The smell of Mako was dulled, the buzz of machines and scribbling pens muted. It was just Zack and Cloud, and Cloud had never imaged something so _perfect _could come from something Hojo tried to make so _wrong_.

They were only together a handful of times, and there was always guilt and shame after, but the nothingness and unexpected beauty that accompanied those moments of bliss made them addictive, like the purest drug. But they never had sex outside the 'tests' Cloud was too ashamed to suggest it, and Zack was too guilt ridden over feeling like he was using Cloud for his own relief. Even as Cloud's mind broke down he could still see the looks Zack sometimes gave him. The _need_ for what they had shared so briefly in this hell hole. But it was not _Cloud_ Zack really wanted. Cloud knew he had been but a shadow of the one Zack had loved, just as Cloud had been a pale reflection of Zack for Aeris.

Cloud forced himself from the thoughts. He never thought about those times with Zack. _Never_. They were untouchable, sacred, shameful, and precious. Cloud felt unworthy of every touch. Zack had given him so much –his very life—and Cloud had taken this as well. Something that was never meant for him. Zack was not supposed to touch him like that, not when Cloud secretly wished, in his deepest of hearts, that Zack could have looked upon him as a brother. But Cloud had been an undeserving, weak boy that Zack had given everything for. Cloud never expected Zack to see him as anything different then he saw himself –a failure.

Cloud had longed to be more than the circumstantial-friendship with Zack. Zack had been everything to him for so long. He was ingrained into Cloud's very soul, and Cloud could not banish the secret part of him that wanted to call Zack brother –something deeper, more bonding then friend, because what they shared was so much deeper then friendship. But he had never wanted_ that_. What they had shared in the labs was the flawless union of bodies and it had been exquisite, but it had not been _right_, because he was never meant to know Zack in that way.

It could not be erased from Cloud's mind now. But this new Zack would have the burden of those memories between them, but nor would he have the years of torture and despair, locked in mako and used as a scientist's plaything, that had melded Cloud and Zack's souls together in a bond only those who had suffered through such a nightmare could really understand. This new Zack could never be the old Zack; that Zack was lost to Cloud forever.

_Enough._

Cloud torn his thoughts away from the past, away from the other Zack.

Kunsel's eyes had dropped to the table, his fingers playing with a cheap napkin. _Oh Kunsel._ Cloud wished there was some way Kunsel's heart could be with the one it desired. He wanted his new friend to be happy, but he could not forget the perfection of Zack and Aeris. Cloud was selfishly thankful he had never been in love. But at least Cloud knew it wasn't revulsion for the act of male love that held Zack back from seeking male partners.

It was not uncommon for SOLDIERS to become lovers, there were no female SOLDIERS and given the amount of time SOLDIERS spent in reclusion away from civilians, on mission and training, it was not a surprise they would find relief and even love with each other. It seemed though, that Zack had no desire to partake of the common practice.

Cloud couldn't look at the dejected SOLDIER any longer. Zack was frowning at Kunsel; Cloud could see the confusion in the blue eyes. Kunsel felt Zack's eyes and jerked a smile over his lips but Zack looked unconvinced. The scene was painful to watch, and Cloud looked away.

Bright red-hair caught Cloud's eyes and he sucked in his breath. Reno was sauntering over to Cissnei who was sipping a margarita at the bar. Cloud couldn't let Reno see him with Zack and Kunsel, he would not risk the two SOLDIERS getting dragged deeper into his secrets.

Cloud broke into Zack's concerned question -asking Kunsel what was wrong, "I am not feeling well, I'll just wait for you outside." He was already standing and striding for the door before the SOLDIERS registered his departure.

Cloud forced himself not to look over at Reno. He could only hope the Turk hadn't seen him, or wouldn't think he was worth the bother. Cloud knew he might have been overreacting. He was just a kid after all, how could the Turk be interested in him? But the Turk had taken the time to warn him away from Aeris, and he could never be too careful.

…

Kunsel watched in confusion as the door swung shut behind Cloud's abrupt departure. Secretly he was thankful for the escape from Zack's probing questions. He'd been a fool and let Zack's words affect him. Zack couldn't ever know. But Gaia it had hurt. _Sephiroth_. Zack would rather have Sephiroth who he barely knew then Kunsel who… loved him. _Don't think it idiot!_ Too late, he'd just been skirting what he'd known for months. He was _in love_ with Zack Fair, and it _hurt_. It hurt so much. He ached for Zack, and Zack would never ever be his.

"Come on Kunsel, Cloud said he wasn't feeling well. Probably that drink, it was _way_ too strong for a kid."

Kunsel nodded silently, not trusting his voice. They were stopped from going to the boy when Kunsel saw Reno weaving towards them. What did the Turk want? Kunsel was _not_ in the mood.

"Yo SOLDIERS," how did the Turk always manage to make that word an insult? Kunsel didn't take offense though, Reno insulted everybody, it wasn't personal. He didn't actually believe Reno was one of those Turks who hated SOLDIERS on sight. It was just Reno being Reno.

"Hey Reno," Kunsel heard the question in Zack's greeting. He was wondering what the Turk wanted too.

"You looking good Fair…"

"What do you want Reno." Kunsel cut passed the bullshit.

Reno raised a red brow. "Touchy. I was just wondering how you two knew Desmond."

"Who?" Zack asked.

"The little blond kid that was sitting with you." Kunsel recognized the causally thrown inquiry as Turk business. It was written in the subtle way Reno shifted his weight forward, his lids deliberately dropping to give his eyes a lazy look. Kunsel mind was spinning a mile a minute. The Turks knew something about Cloud. _Careful now._

"Oh him, we don't really know him, just bumped into him. He's one of the cadets." A safe excuse. Reno had obviously seen Cloud seated with them, and if Reno made inquires he was bound to discover Cloud was in their class. He would also find out his name was not Desmond, but Kunsel would let Cloud deal with that.

"Huh, well that's fine then." Kunsel was not sure if Reno was buying it, but at least he wasn't pushing it. Reno made to walk away, but turned back again to shoot Zack a smirk. "Oh, and Fair, stay away from my girl."

Kunsel saw Zack's eyes narrow as they drilled a hole in the Turk's back. Kunsel caught his friend's elbow. Zack broke the glare and Kunsel silently motioned to the door.

Kunsel frowned when he couldn't see the boy; he thought Cloud had said he'd wait for them. Zack let out a soft curse as Cloud materialized from the shadows.

"Damn it Spiky, how did you do that?"

Cloud shrugged. One more mystery for Cloud Strife.

"Are you going to tell us what's going on?" Kunsel caught the annoyed note in Zack's voice. Reno was such an ass.

"I am sorry I just…"

"How do you know Reno, _Desmond_?"

"He talked to you? What did you tell him?" Cloud's face was as impassive as usual.

"We didn't tell him your name, or that we're your…friends. I said you were a cadet and we'd just bumped into you here." Kunsel explained.

"Thank-you Kunsel, I didn't mean to mix you both up in this…"

"In what?" Zack demanded, "What do the Turks have to do with you Cloud?"

"I… it's not… I think their watching someone I've run into a few times, but I am not going to mix myself up in their business. I am keeping my distance."

"Alright Cloud, but if Reno checks you out he'll find out you lied about your name." Kunsel warned.

Cloud let a small frown mare his face, "I know. It was a mistake, but Cloud is such an unusual name... I'll think of something, Reno would probably buy it if I told him I was scared and panicked."

"You, panic?" Kunsel asked in disbelief.

Cloud shrugged, "Well he doesn't know me."

"Hum," Kunsel let the matter drop. He was watching Zack from the corner of his eye. He could see Zack's barely restrained frustration building. "We'd better get back. Why don't you walk ahead Cloud."

Cloud had noticed Zack's mood as well. Kunsel saw the hesitancy; he remembered how affected Cloud had been by Zack's displeasure earlier. It had shocked Kunsel; Cloud scarcely knew Zack, but at a hint of the SOLDIER's anger the boy had practically broken down.

"It'll be alright Cloud." He tried to reassure the boy. Cloud didn't look convinced when Zack wouldn't look at him.

"I am sorry Zack." Cloud mumbled before walking forward, leaving Zack to Kunsel.

"I can't stand this! He's lying again!" Zack clenched his jaw as he ground out, "I thought we were his friends, obviously not."

"I don't like being lied to either, Zack, but I trust him. He wouldn't do it without a reason. We shouldn't abandon him. I know it's hard maintaining a friendship under the circumstances, but remember he's just a kid too. He's been through something horrible, I can feel it, see it in his eyes… Whatever he's hiding he's still a good person who could use a friend. He promised he'd tell us one day, and I believe that."

Zack sighed, and Kunsel watched the anger melt out of his bones. "You're right. I hate not knowing and being lied to, but I still trust him. I think he's making the wrong choice in not telling us, but he is a…friend, yes, and I won't push him away."

"You better not."

Kunsel gave him a playful push and Zack returned it, almost knocking Kunsel down, but it worked. Zack let the worry lines bleed out of his face, and of the first time since coming home without Angeal, Zack's eyes were free of shadows.


	8. Chapter 8

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 8

Angeal pulled Genesis's sweat soaked body to him, settling the red head on his chest. He could hear Genesis's breath coming in gasping pants. Angeal wove his fingers into the wet locks, mumbling soft words into his lover's ear. Genesis soon fell into an exhausted sleep, nestled in Angeal's embrace.

Angeal pushed aside the lingering guilt he wore like a second skin now. Genesis had wanted this, he craved these moments of bliss as much as Angeal did. Even so, the body now laying in peaceful slumber, weighed heavily in Angeal's arms. He couldn't ignore the weakness seeping into Genesis's bones, clawing into the sinews of his muscles. In years past it was always Genesis who was the last to flop back onto the bed, sated from a night spent in passion, but now he lay drained while Angeal had not broken a sweat.

Angeal trailed his fingers over Genesis's back, feeling the permanent ridge of split skin cutting through the shoulder. Genesis told him once that it was like a burning knife slicing into his skin every time he opened the black wing. Genesis did not talk about it now, but then, they didn't really talk anymore. What was there to say? Their bodies were slowly rotting around their bones, death creeping closer every hour. But it was not death Angeal feared most, but the secret terror of losing his mind, his vey humanity.

It was not an idle fear. He could see the evidence of Genesis's deterioration mapped most painfully across the once brilliant mind that he had first fallen in love with. Genesis was becoming more and more difficult to reason with. Angeal feared the day when his love would be beyond his reach, lost in his own mind.

Genesis stirred in Angeal's arms, perfect lips parting in sleep, a little moan of pain slipping out. Angeal's calloused thumb lightly traced the sculpted mouth, tempting even in sleep. He missed the playful smirks it had once worn, now it was often twisted in a snarl of pain.

Angeal let his hand drop back to the smooth back, making soothing circles over pale skin. He seemed cursed to be denied the emptiness of sleep this night. He could not help replaying the day over and over. Zack. His puppy had come for him. Angeal squeezed the vision of broken cries and betrayed blue eyes from his mind. He couldn't remember why he had left his friend lying there in the dust, at the mercy of his unstable lover, but then, he didn't know why he did a lot of things now.

He pushed down the nagging terror. He didn't want to think about deterioration. He could fight this, he had too for Genesis. He could not abandon him. He had to be strong, and sane –just a little bit longer now. Soon Hollander would find a cure, he had to believe that.

He pulled Genesis closer, burying his face in the red locks, inhaling the beloved scent of his love. _Just a little bit longer. Soon I'll find a way to take the pain away_, _I promise_. _We're going to be whole again, and then we can go home_.

He'd lost his honor. He remembered the shadow of broken dreams. Monsters didn't have dreams and honor. Monsters deserved only death. But he wouldn't let the monsters growing inside of them to win. His only dream now was to be human again.

….

Cloud pushed his body harder, trying to outrun his own mind. Sleep had evaded him again, and he found himself packing the dirt of the track at this mid-night hour. He was fortunate no one bothered to guard this part of the Shinra compound. It had been his haunt recently. He drilled his body to exhaustion so he could snatch a few hours of dreamless sleep. He couldn't face the night otherwise.

Cloud had endured years of tormented nightmares locking him in cold labs to face horrors most people could not have survived sane –but then he hadn't been exactly sane either in the end. He shook the thought away, pumping his legs faster.

These dreams were worse in their own way though. He relived the memory of Zack killing Angeal. He felt the loneliness of Zack with only a mako poisoned friend, dead Angeal clone, and dying Genesis for company. Cloud heard Zack screaming for Angeal as he walked away, Genesis's mocking voice in his ears. He watched Zack's fist pounding on the make tube's glass, half crazed from the pain as he begged the vision of his dead friend to help him.

What made the memories so painful was the helplessness Cloud felt after waking. He had vowed to save Zack, but how could he save him for Angeal's death? They were not just memories, but an almost certain future –at least some of them. Cloud would never let Hojo touch Zack again, but how could he save Zack from the sickness Angeal was wasting away from? Could they really escape that future? Was it fate? No, Cloud couldn't believe that. He couldn't bear to think that it was all for nothing, that he would be forced to live the nightmare again. Hadn't he already moved the first chest piece with Sephiroth's letter? The future could not be set. There was no such thing as fate.

Cloud slowed his pace to an easy lopping jog. He could save them, he would, he just hadn't discovered how yet.

Zack was gone again. He had been sent to Banora last week. Cloud knew what would transpire, and he ached for his friend. He wished there was some way he could comfort Zack, but empty words would not change the current path of events. How could he tell Zack everything would be alright, when he didn't know if it would?

Cloud longed to confided in Zack and Kunsel. As the weeks slipped by, and he still had not revealed his secrets to them he could feel their mounting impatience, but Cloud couldn't tell them. Nothing was certain. Hojo and Jenova were still lose. Shinra was still sucking the Lifestream dry.

Cloud knew it might be a mistake to wait the last three months for the SOLDIER exams, but he knew he couldn't leave now. He wasn't strong enough to abandon the friendship with Zack and Kunsel he was clinging too. He was weak, he knew, but he couldn't leave them. Just a little bit longer, a few more weeks with them, and he would be ready to run if he had too. But he knew that for the lie it was. He held back, letting the days turn into weeks, allowing the planet to die slowly while he did nothing.

But he knew, after he made SOLDIER, things would have to change. They would change whether he acted or not. He would begin his mako treatments. Cloud remembered Hojo gloating over his body's ability to absorb the mako and Jenvoa cells, he had been uncommonly receptive. That would mean it would take him less time to built up his strength, but it also ran the risk of brining him to the attention of the science department. However, if he was already in SOLDIER Cloud didn't think Hojo would try to steal him away for secret research, but if did Hojo showed too much interest Cloud would make himself disappear. Cloud would try this the Shinra way first, and if that failed he would adopted the path of the terrorist.

Either way, he would not be able to tell Zack and Kunsel the truth for a long time. Even if he came up with a plan to save Angeal and Genesis he wouldn't be able share it with them. He needed someone else, someone who cared about the two missing Firsts… Sephiroth.

Angeal and Genesis were Sephiroth's only friends. He had refused the mission to Banora because he wouldn't risk being forced to kill them, and later Sephiroth had ignored a direct order to kill Angeal. Even after Sephiroth had discovered the mutation and cloning, he had not turned his back on them.

Cloud could slip Sephiroth the information, and he was almost positive Sephiroth would do whatever it took to save them, even if it meant going against Shinra. The only problem was –Cloud had no idea _how_ to save Angeal and Genesis.

Cloud let a growl slip passed his lips as he slowed to a walk. He needed to think. There had to be _something_.

The deterioration was a result of the Jenova cells injected into their bodies before birth. They had both received the curse of being able to clone their cells like Jenova. Cloud only knew one instance in history when Jenova cells were successfully purged from a body –the planet healing Geostigma. The planet had chosen to cleanse itself of the calamity's cells, but Cloud had little hope of the planet being moved to save the two SOLIDERS from the Jenova cells eating away at them. The planet had not spared them in the past, so it could not be counted on this time either.

Only one other possibility remained, to Cloud's knowledge, but it was a dangerous one. Genesis had believed Sephiroth's cells could heal the deterioration, and Cloud wasn't sure they couldn't. But to play with S-cells was playing with a possible fate worse than death. Sephiroth had been able to control Cloud through Jenova and the S-cells in his body. Genesis and Angeal already had Jenova's cells; to inject S-cell into them… The cost of that choice was unknown, and Cloud did not like unknowns –not when it came to Sephiroth.

But was it Cloud's choice to make? Genesis and Angeal were dying a slow agonizing death, and Genesis had taken more than a few innocent people into death with him. If Cloud did nothing Genesis and Angeal would truly become monsters, but at least the S-cells had the possibility of stopping the deterioration.

Cloud ran his fingers through his sweat soaked hair. Did he not already have enough to deal with, must he shoulder the weight of more lives?

He didn't _want _this choice. He would place the decision in Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal's hands. Perhaps Sephiroth would not even offer his cells, but Cloud doubted it. Sephiroth would try to save them if he could, so it would be up to Genesis and Angeal if they accepted their friend's cells.

Cloud let out a shaky breath. He had come to his decision. He didn't know if it was the right one, but then he rarely knew if he was on the right path, which usually led to more mistakes and failing… He pushed the thoughts away. He would write a second letter, find a way to pass it into Sephiroth's procession, and that would be the end of it. He would have done what he could, the rest was out of his hands.

….

Tseng watched Banora burn as the helicopter flew over. It was times like these he cursed Veld. Tseng had been happy to leave the politics up to others. He enjoyed his job –at least he had until a few months ago. (Damn you Veld, damn you for leaving me, us, to this mess.)

As always his mind shied away from just _how_ Veld, his old mentor and the long-time Director of the Turks, had left this world.

It was necessary, he told himself for the thousandth time. Necessary. What was necessity? How could it be measured against such betrayal? But Veld had left them first! Veld had taken off the blue suit, thrown down his position as Head Turk (father, god damn you Veld, the Turks were supposed to be family! Isn't that what you always preached? Right up until the time you abandoned us?), and run away to join a fucking terrorist group! Tseng had never known what motivated Veld to flee the Company he'd given his life too and join AVALANCHE. He'd never know now (Should have asked, you stupid fuck, you should have begged him for answers before you but that bullet in his head).

Oh, but he'd been such a good little dog that day. So well trained:

_Veld's scarred face smiling at him, no, not at him, through him, at the body of the dead girl on the operation table. Veld's brown eyes full of despair just before they'd seen the gun in Tseng's hand and then, then…it was like Veld had _wanted_ Tseng to pull the trigger, wanted to die. Tseng had pulled the trigger, his mind full of furry at Veld's perceived betrayal. And later, later after he'd learned of Rufus's hand in it, how he'd wanted to rip off his blue suit and descend upon the young man he'd sworn to protect, watched grow up into the rebellious teen he'd become, and make Rufus _pay_ for this betrayal._

Tseng stopped the thoughts. He wasn't going to think about that day. He had too much control to let himself wander those forbidden paths.

Tseng let himself be distracted by the SOLDIER sitting across from him, and felt his sharp edges round and the ice that had long since traded places with blood in his veins thaw, just a little.

If Tseng had one weakness as a Turk, it was the little shred of conscious he had never entirely been able to shed –at least that was what Veld said. But the dead Director of the Turks had _no _room to talk. (Shut up, Veld, get out of my head. You're dead. Dead. Dead. And if I'm not good enough, then so be it. I don't have to listen to a _traitor). _Veld had been utterly ruthless, and devoid of natural emotions. With one exception –Vincent Valentine—Veld's first partner.

Tseng had never met Valentine, and had only heard Veld speak of him on one occasion, but it had been enough to shock the memory into Tseng's mind. He remembered the look in Veld's eyes, the _pain_. Tseng had thought Veld the perfect Turk, incapable of human emotion, but it seemed the man was human after all. Still the best Turk Tseng had ever met with a brilliant poker face and the ability to burry all that pain so far down inside him not even a shadow of it stole across that hard hard face. But the mask had cracked when Veld spoke of Valentine, his old partner. Tseng had wondered if the two had been lovers, but the truth of that suspicion had died with Veld.

Tseng's attention was drawn again to the Second class SOLDIER occupying the opposite seat in the helicopter, when the man let out a heavy sigh. Zack Fair was not a bad kid. He would never have made a good Turk, but was prime SOLDIER material. Tseng had made it one of his goals as the new Director of the Turks, to root out this pointless rivalry between Turks and SOLDIERS. It benefited no one, and was petty in Tseng's opinion.

Tseng held only a professional acquaintance with General Sephiroth, but he had come to respect the SOLDIER. More importantly, Sephiroth seemed to respect him, which would lead to a profitable relationship. And now there was this business with the two missing Firsts. Losing a comrade was always difficult, but too lose two at once and have them be your friends, would hit anyone hard. Tseng had already decided he would give Sephiroth a personal account of the mission. The man deserved to hear about the Firsts' desertion from more than an impersonal typed report.

Tseng's dark eyes watched the grim-faced SOLDIER opposite him. Fair had not had that look of defeat on his features a week ago. The cloud of despair hanging over Zack's head was potent enough to taste. Zack had been convinced he could bring the two Firsts back to SOLDIER, but Tseng knew it would be hard to keep that optimistic view in light of everything they had discovered.

Genesis was clearly unstable, the man had murdered his own parents, but Tseng was more worried about the Genesis clones they had found and the physical mutation of Genesis's own body. Angeal had chosen not to return with them, and Tseng was beginning to think that had been the wisest decision. As much as Zack and Sephiroth wanted their friends back, Tseng worried what Shinra would do to the two deserters were they to get their claws on them. Desertion carried the penalty of death. Shinra might rethink that sentence if their prized General were to involve himself, as he surely would, but there would be repercussions. The question was: who would suffer them?

"Tseng, do you think I could call a friend and tell him I am on my way home?" Zack asked in a listless voice.

"I think that would be fine, Zack. We should be back in Midgar by mid-day tomorrow."

"Thanks Tseng." Zack flipped open his PHS and quickly punched in the number.

Tseng liked Zack, and he wished the SOLDIER could have been spared this education into the more malevolent side of SOLDIER. He just hoped the lesson was over for now. There were some secrets best left hidden and Shinra had more than its share of those.

…

Cloud crawled through the dusty vent, envelope tucked securely into his shirt. It had only been a week since he'd written this second letter, and already an opportunity had presented itself. If he had doubted his decision to help the two dying SOLDIERS, one look at Zack's face after he had come home had crushed any lingering misgivings.

Zack had refused to talk about the mission, and as the days passed he became more and more withdrawn. Cloud could still see the horded hope in Zack's eyes, but something had died in Zack when he had watched Angeal walk away from him. He had clung to the belief Angeal would never betray him, but that hope had been swept away, buried in the ashes of Zack's crumbling dreams.

Kunsel and Cloud struggled to bring even strained smiles to Zack's lips now. Cloud knew it was more than just Angeal's betrayal eating at Zack. Genesis's parting words had also affected him, "We are monsters. We have neither dreams nor honor." He remembered how much the cursed words had haunted Zack. They had defined the worst moments of Zack's life. They were the first twist of the fist that would crush Zack's dreams.

Cloud gritted his teeth. _Not this time._ Zack wasn't going to die in the mud, freedom forever just outside his grasp. He wasn't going to let _betrayal_ define Zack's world.

Cloud carefully slid the ceiling tile back, creating a crack just wide enough to slip his hand through. He had been incredibly fortunate. Cloud had been on his way back to the cadet dorms after a quick spar with Kunsel, when he had spotted Sephiroth.

Zack had not chosen to join them, and Cloud could feel Kunsel's absent concentration. Kunsel was spending as much time with Zack as his friend would allow. Kunsel had obviously wanted to be back with the other SOLDIER, and Cloud could not blame him, he only wished he too could visit Zack. But he was only a cadet, and this Zack had only called him friend for a matter of weeks. Cloud couldn't hope to have a true friendship with Zack until he made SOLDIER, until they were on more equal footing, though he knew he would never be Zack's true equal.

Cloud had watched from the shadows as Sephiroth stepped into the bathroom. Cloud had immediately darted into an empty storage closet. He'd climbed a wobbly shelf, and deftly pulled off one of the ceiling vent panels, and hauled his slim body into the confined space.

Cloud watched from his hiding place in the ceiling as Sephiroth began to wash his hands, his back to the door and Cloud's concealed location. Cloud slipped his hand through the crack, the letter clasped in his fingers. When Sephiroth grabbed a paper towel and started drying his hands, Cloud sent the letter flying into the General's back with a quick flick of his wrist. Cloud's hand was already safely out of view by the time Sephiroth turned, a slight frown marring his face.

Sephiroth's eyes landed upon the letter, and Cloud lost sight of him as he moved to pick it up. Cloud caught a murmured curse before the bathroom door was being yanked open. He pushed the ceiling tile forward another inch, trying to see if Sephiroth had really gone running down the hall after the mysterious letter writer.

He hadn't. Cloud raised a brow when he heard the bathroom door being slammed shut as Sephiroth came back into sight with a swirl of silver. Sephiroth clutched the new letter in his hand, crumpling the middle with the force of his grasp. Sephiroth stared down at the envelope, and Cloud wished he could see the man's face. He was surprised by Sephiroth's reaction. Perhaps Sephiroth had not been as accepting of the last letter as he'd hoped.

Cloud watched in confusion as Sephiroth rested his forehead against the bathroom wall, a sigh escaping the man's lips. Sephiroth suddenly sent a fist crashing into the wall, not hard enough to break through the cheap plaster, but Cloud had to bite down on a surprised gasp. He'd never seen Sephiroth so…distressed. Sephiroth was always composed. The man simply did not slam doors and pound out his frustration against a wall.

Cloud listened to Sephiroth's heavy breaths, unwilling to leave him when Cloud had apparently been the cause of this intense emotion. Cloud could not silence the thread of fear he felt was he watched his old enemy. Sephiroth's presence was powerful under normal conditions, but now the air practically breathed with the tension and… anger, rolling off him.

As frightening as Sephiroth was, Cloud could not shake the need to do something. This was his fault, and no matter what old buried emotions Sephiroth's actions were dragging up, he still felt responsible. He didn't want to see Sephiroth like this, it wasn't supposed to be this way. Sephiroth was supposed to come out of this whole, but at this moment the man looked far from whole. And why would he be? The only two friend's he had ever known had just abandoned him, and he had to know it was only a matter of time before Shinra ordered him to hunt them down and kill them.

With one last deep breath Cloud acted. "Sephiroth."

Sephiroth's head whipped up at the sound of his name, his eyes darting about the small room. "Is it you?"

Cloud couldn't see Sephiroth's face, he had turned away as he spoke, but Cloud was surprised by the almost hopeful note in the man's voice.

Cloud felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound of the voice. So many emotions and memories crashed into him. He had forgotten what Sephiroth's voice could do to him, the way the man wielded words like blades.

"_You're nothing but an empty puppet."_

That voice had torn the skin from his bones, breaking like a tempest into the very heart of his being. Sephiroth's eyes had seen the deepest, darkest part of Cloud, what he didn't even dare whisper to the night, and that voice had ripped into him, twisting and stabbing into Cloud's already fractured soul.

Cloud swallowed down the old hate and terror. He thought he was over this, but it seemed some hurts go to deep. He had forgiven Sephiroth, but he had not forgotten.

Sephiroth was still waiting, but it was not _that_ Sephiroth. "Are you, are you alright?"

Sephiroth spun back around at Cloud's voice. Emerald eyes darted to the shut door before roving the empty shadows. "Are you the one who wrote the first." He held up the envelope, still gripped in his hand.

"Yes," Cloud whispered. Sephiroth's eye's snapped up, finally pinpointing Cloud's location.

Cloud couldn't help cringing deeper into the shadows when those eyes focused upon the small crack. He knew Sephiroth couldn't see him, but if was still hard to look into the compelling eyes. Sephiroth could make people _do_ things without opening his mouth. Cloud had drowned in those eyes. It had not been a pleasant experience, but he supposed disobeying one's _master_ never was. He wasnot going to think of _that_. He was not going to be control this time, he was not going to be weak.

Sephiroth's eyes held no menace now though. They were not full of twisted hate reflecting the dead soul within.

"I am not going to hurt you," Sephiroth sounded like he was trying to sooth a skittish colt, but Cloud supposed the analogy wasn't far off. "Will you come down? I would like to meet you."

This was not what Cloud wanted. He did not want Sephiroth to know who he was. He didn't want questions.

"Is something wrong? You seemed…angry?" Cloud ignored the request to reveal himself, deciding to make this exchange as short as possible. He hadn't realized talking with Sephiroth again would affect him this much.

"I am not angry, just frustrated." Cloud refused to acknowledge the blatant disappointment he heard in Sephiroth's voice when it became apparent he did not want to speak face to face. Sephiroth could have torn the ceiling open and hauled him bodily down if he'd wanted, but Cloud hoped Sephiroth would respect his wishes and leave him to his shadows.

Sephiroth took a few cautions steps forward, and Cloud refused to shrink deeper into the blackness.

"What are you frustrated about?"

"I want to know where my…where Vincent is."

Cloud hesitated. It was a reasonable request, and he was secretly pleased for Vincent that Sephiroth appeared to be interested in meeting his father. Cloud knew how much Vincent had regretted never knowing his son before Jenova destroyed him and turned him into a monster.

But if Hojo realized Sephiroth knew about Vincent then he would do everything in his power to exert his control over Sephiroth, and that would mean Jenova. "You wish to meet him?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

"So you believe he is your father and Lucrecia your mother?"

"I do…and I want to thank you for telling me. I…" Sephiroth frowned as he searched for the words.

"You're welcome, though I do not deserve thanks, you should have known who your parents were from birth. I am sorry I wasn't able to tell you sooner."

Sephiroth's eyes bore into the dark crack. The look was searching, but Cloud did not think it was for _him_, rather Sephiroth was trying to understand the meaning behind his words. Cloud wondered if anyone had ever told Sephiroth he deserved the truth before.

"I understand why you want to meet Vincent, but Sephiroth, if Hojo found out he would do everything he could to regain his control over you. I don't know if you could resist Jenova's power even though you know the truth. I think it best not to test it if we don't have to."

Sephiroth pursed his lips, "What if I can find Vincent without Hojo knowing?"

"Well… Hojo wouldn't notice if Vincent was gone, not for a good while at least, and he would probably assume Vincent freed himself. But… aren't you…being watched?"

"Sometimes," Sephiroth reluctantly admitted, "But I am leaving for Wutai in a few days. Shinra wants to bring this war to an end. My leash is longer there," his mouth twisted in scorn, "I am confident I will be able to find Vincent without alerting anyone to my activities."

"Hum… are you sure Sephiroth? I know how much you want to find him, and I want Vincent to meet you too, but…"

"I would not put him in danger, nor would I risk alerting Hojo to my knowledge." Cloud read the controlled annoyance. Sephiroth had too much control to snap.

"Alright. Vincent's in Nibelheim, in the old Shinra mansion." Cloud conceded, praying this wasn't another mistake.

"Where I was…born?"

"Yes. There's a secret passage into the labs, and there will probably be a few monsters prowling about, but you can handle that. I wouldn't try reading any old labs notes, though." He could see Sephiroth's irritation at the orders. "Stop getting all huffy, I am telling you this for your own good."

Cloud was not interested in Sephiroth's apparent dislike of orders. Sephiroth raised a brow, but it looked almost amused. Cloud stared in silence for a moment before collecting himself.

"I don't think I'd want to read what Hojo had written about me." Cloud shook away the memories. Something must have bled into his voice because any hint of amusement had left Sephiroth's face and eyes were again trying to pierce the darkness.

"Here, hand me the letter," Cloud slipped his hand through the opening, feeling ridiculously self-conscious as he revealed his arm passed the elbow and he held out his hand, waiting.

Sephiroth placed the letter into his hand, after a small pause. Cloud immediate pulled his arm back up. He scooted farther back into the vent, and pushed the ceiling tile forward, letting more light spill in. He pulled out a pen from his pocket and began scribbling directions and instructions over the envelope.

"What is this new letter about?" Sephiroth's voice cut into his hurried work.

"Genesis and Angeal."

"I see," Cloud was hidden back in the vent so he couldn't see the man's face.

Cloud finished and pulled the ceiling tile back into position before dropped his arm through the now shrunken crack. "Here, that's everything you should need to find Vincent. He won't want to wake up at first, but just tell him your name and you won't be able to get him back in that coffin if you tried." A small smile was playing over Cloud's lips in the darkness as he imaged what Vincent would do when he learned Sephiroth was _alive_.

"Thank-you." Sephiroth took back the offered envelope, and Cloud made to pull his arm up again, but suddenly Sephiroth's hand shot forward to capture Cloud's wrist in a firm grasp. Cloud let out a surprised gasp.

"What do you want from me?" Cloud stared down into Sephiroth's suddenly hard eyes. He tried twisting his wrist free, but he knew he'd never be able to break Sephiroth's grip.

"What do you mean?" Cloud finally gave up his struggles and asked.

"Tell me why you are doing this, what are you trying to gain for me?"

As Cloud realized what Sephiroth was asking he felt a wave of sadness engulf him. It really should not have been a surprise, but it was still sobering to see the suspicion in the green eyes. Cloud could hear Sephiroth warning Zack of the manipulativeness of people. Sephiroth's eyes had been so cold, and Cloud knew he had formed this opinion of people based on experience. From years of being _used_.

Cloud would have asked Sephiroth the same question had their places been reversed. He did not blame Sephiroth for not trusting him, he blamed the people who had forced Sephiroth to be this way. He blamed the ones who had used Sephiroth over and over until he had learned how to shut everyone out, hiding behind a cold emotionless shell where no one could hurt him.

"Sephiroth, I know you won't believe me, but I just want to see you happy. Don't you deserve to be, after everything?"

Sephiroth's face was a frozen mask. Cloud waited, his wrist still caught between pale fingers. Then, in a soft voice, as if he was asking himself the truth of Cloud's words, "Do I?"

"Yes, Sephiroth, everyone deserves to be happy." Cloud answered the question not meant for him. He wasn't going to let anyone believe they didn't at least warrant happiness in life, even if they could never attain it.

The emerald gaze turned back to the shadowed crack, "Why will you not come down? I am not going to hurt you." Cloud shifted uncomfortably, trying to escape the soft request. "I want to meet you."

_Why?_ Cloud couldn't see what interest Sephiroth could possibly hold for him aside from the information he held and the source of that knowledge. "I can't."

"Why?" Sephiroth probed, but Cloud remained silent. "Hum."

Cloud started when he felt warm finger tips tracing the back of his hand. He tired pulling his hand away again, but Sephiroth hadn't released his wrist. The fingers ran down the lines of Cloud's veins. "I knew you'd be young." Sephiroth mused.

"Stop," Cloud pulled more desperately on the unmoving grip.

Sephiroth twisted the wrist, exposing Cloud's palm. Cloud closed his hand in a fist, feeling oddly exposed under Sephiroth's inspection. It was just his arm, but somehow he felt naked under those eyes, the eyes that always saw too deeply.

Fingers brushed across the soft skin of his inner wrist. It was so…strange. Sephiroth was holding his wrist and not trying to crush the bones together. He was _touching_ Cloud, and it didn't hurt. When had Sephiroth ever touched him without the intent to harm? It was a surreal experience, but Sephiroth's voice snapped him back to reality.

"You're skin is so fair, do you come for a mountainous region?"

"Stop!" Cloud cried desperately as Sephiroth's fingers began running up his arm towards his inner elbow. "No! I don't want you to touch me."

Immediately Cloud felt the fingers leave him and his wrist freed. He quickly tucked his arm back into the safety of the vent, trying to still his pounding heart. He didn't know why he had panicked, it was just like Sephiroth to use his arm to try and identify him, but it had been more than the fear of discovery that had cause his desperate cry.

He didn't like Sephiroth touching him. It was too confusing. It was too much, it was all too much. He needed to get away. Away from the eyes, the voice, the memories. Away from this Sephiroth who didn't fit nicely into the box he had made for the old one. He didn't want Sephiroth to hate him, but he didn't understand a Sephiroth wanting to meet him, a Sephiroth touching him.

Sephiroth's voice broke into his thoughts. "I did not realize my touch was so distasteful to you." His voice was twisted in bitterness, but it wasn't amid at Cloud.

Cloud didn't like the sentiment he heard behind the words. He saw the memory of Zack watching Sephiroth worriedly as the man clutched his head, asking if he was a monster. "No, that's not what I meant. I just have trouble….I only want certain people touching me." Cloud watched Sephiroth's face, but the man's eyes still held inner loathing. He knew that feeling too well to want to see it on another's face.

"And I am not one of these 'certain people'?" Long lashes swept over green eyes, hiding them.

"No, at least…not yet."

Sephiroth's eyes went back to searching the shadows at this. "Does this mean we will…speak again?"

"Yes, I'll come find you after you get back. I'd like to hear about Vincent if you wish to tell me."

"Vincent. Of course. So, when you have taken the information you want you will have finished with me? My…usefulness will be exhausted?" The voice was resentful, and Cloud felt the aching sorrow again. It was painful to know a creature so magnificent and powerful as Sephiroth had been so cruelly used.

"I don't want to use you, Sephiroth. If you don't want to tell me about Vincent, then don't. I just thought…I just don't see why you want to talk with _me_ again?"

Sephiroth frowned up at Cloud, "Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?"

"Well… I am nobody special."

A silver brow inched up. "You are the one who told me about my…parents, how is that not special?"

"Knowledge doesn't make the _person_ special. What is left when the knowledge is given?"

"True, but I still wish to meet _you_. I wouldn't ask you anything you didn't want to tell me."

Cloud was silent for a long moment, then, "Perhaps you wouldn't –not the first time—but eventually you would ask and I cannot tell you."

"You don't have to tell me anything more then you are willing to share." Sephiroth promised.

Cloud was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. He didn't want to meet Sephiroth. Sephiroth could say he wanted to meet Cloud, but he didn't know Cloud. The man would soon be bored when he discovered how little Cloud had to say. And Cloud could not bear to have those eyes looking at him,_ into_ him. Sephiroth would _see_ him. See him for Cloud Strife the failure, the shadow, the pretender, the puppet. He couldn't bear it.

"Maybe, I'll think about it." Cloud needed to get away. "I am going now."

"Wait!" Cloud paused, his hand already reaching to pull the ceiling tile closed. "You will find me when I come back?"

"Yes."

"Very well. I shall speak with you then."

"Good-bye…Sephiroth."

"Good-bye." Cloud slowly slid the tile closed and began to wiggle his way back down the vent.


	9. Chapter 9

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 9

Sephiroth tossed the radio transmitter out the Helicopter's door before securing it behind him. He was not going to have Shinra tracking him like a stray dog. He knew he would have to sit through more than one long speech about 'irresponsibility,' but it was worth it to be free from the iron collar, if only for a few short days.

The sky was blushing a pale pink in the sunrise, his absence would not be noted for several hours yet. They could search for the missing 'hero of Wutai' all they liked, he was not going to be found until_ he_ willed it. He had done as ordered, like a good little soldier. He'd brought a quick end to the draining war. Shinra could go back to what it did best -gorging itself upon the caucuses of the weaker.

Sephiroth allowed a frown to crease his eyes. He did not like this bitterness. He would often catch himself falling into spells of barely contained rage. He was so angry. It had only grown over the long weeks since he had first read the letter, first learned the truth. He had never felt so cheap in his life. He had been lied to, manipulated, he had been a plaything.

He wanted to hurt something, someone, he wanted them to pay for what they had done to him. And yet, here he was in Watui, sneaking away with the cool breath of morning, instead of plunging his sword into the throats of those that had done this to him. The ones who had man him into this _thing_ that wanted blood, _their_ blood to soak away the pain. He had become the very thing they had wanted. The perfect weapon. No not perfect, not any longer. He was his own weapon now, he would take his own fate into his hands.

The scream of the helicopter's wings cutting the air broke the silence of the dawn. Sephiroth pulled back on the throttle, slowly easing the helicopter off the landing pad. He would reach Nibelheim and Vincent by mid-day. Sephiroth did not know how that meeting would play out, but he wouldn't have long to wait now.

The young writer had not revealed much about Vincent. Sephiroth knew the man had tried to stop Lucrecia from using him as a lab rat, and Hojo had performed experiments on Vincent as punishment for the interference. But what those experiments were, Sephiroth didn't know.

Sephiroth had no false illusions about what this meeting would be. He was not the long lost son returning to his father's loving embrace. Sephiroth scoffed at the rosy picture. Vincent had been a Turk, Sephiroth could respect that and was grateful he at least had killing in common with his father, but Turks were not known for their pure hearts. But this was exactly why Sephiroth was interested in meeting Vincent. If he had learned his father had been an honest man with the heart of a saint, Sephiroth doubted he would have made the effort. Vincent was stained, just as he was.

Sephiroth was not interested in having a father, he was long past any hope or need for that, but perhaps Vincent might be a man he could call friend? Sephiroth knew what he was: The General, a warrior, a weapon, a cold killer. He was as he was molded to be. He had done things in his life that would turn other men's stomachs, and he felt no shame, no regret. He knew no other life than this.

The shame he felt coupled with the anger, came from knowing he had allowed himself to be used. He recognized what kind of creature he was, he knew no other existence then this, and he hated that fact most of all. Understanding oneself is a long step from loving, and Sephiroth loathed himself almost as much as he hated the ones who had made him into this.

He would ask nothing from this man, Vincent. He would not expect anything from him, but still he would go. Sephiroth could not stop himself from wanting some other existence then the one he had known, even if he did not deserve any.

The young man had told him he deserved happiness, but Sephiroth felt the doubt in his own heart. _What was happiness?_ He had never known it, and he wondered if he even wanted to. Happiness would just be one more thing they could strip away from him. But still he hoped for something, for Genesis and Angeal to come back, for this unknown man Vincent to…accept him. The hope for a coming meeting with a stranger –the young man with the beautiful hands.

…

Sephiroth sheathed Masamune as he stepped into the secret chamber. The directions the young writer had given him had been surprisingly exact. He had had no trouble locating the secret stairwell leading down to the Shinra mansion's labs. There had indeed been a few petty monsters he had impatiently dealt with. Sephiroth had religiously adhered to the instructions, even when the flickering lights of hidden rooms full of dark secrets had called to him. The young man had been right, Sephiroth was not sure he really wanted to read Hojo's notes, even with the secrets they could reveal. With Hojo it was as likely to be lies buried in the truths, threaded through with sickening evidences of the scientist's twisted mind.

Sephiroth stepped slowly into the cold room, if it could even be called that, it felt more like a prison. A lone coffin dominated the chamber, and Sephiroth covered the distance between himself and the sleeping man within. Sephiroth's skin was almost translucent in the eerie light as he creaked the lid open.

Midnight hair framed milky skin. Dark lashes hid the eyes, eyes Sephiroth suddenly hoped were green. The face was frozen in youth, the man looked no older then Sephiroth's own twenty-three years. Gold metal glinted in the shadowy light, catching Sephiroth's eye. The man's hands lay crossed over his breast, the left one was no longer a human's though. Sephiroth's jaw clenched –Hojo.

"Vincent Valentine," He called the man from his long sleep, just as his strange young writer had instructed.

Crimson eyes fluttered open, framed by long lashes. A single droplet of water fell from the rock ceiling, catching in the dark spikes. Vincent blinked the moisture away, his strange eyes settling on the one who had intruded upon his penance.

"Vincent Valentine," Sephiroth let the knowledge roll off his tongue, enjoying the sound of the name, so different from the cruelness of 'Hojo' sticking in the mouth like acid. Vincent Valentine, it tasted so _right_.

"Why have you awoken me from my sleep?" Vincent voiced his displeasure. The golden claw stretched to pull the discarded lid closed again. "Leave me to my punishment."

"Punishment? What is it that you must atone for?"

Wine-red eyes blinked up at him, the sculpted face revealing nothing. "How do you know my name?"

"A…friend told me about you."

"Who?" Vincent's eyes narrowed.

"I do not know his name." _Not yet._

"Hum," Vincent reached for the coffin lid again.

"My name is Sephiroth, he told me you were my father." Sephiroth watched the man. Vincent's face crinkled, unreadable thoughts whirling behind the crimson pools.

"My… he is mistake, I have no son."

"Do you not? What of the one you had with Lucrecia?"

"_Lucrecia_…" a whispered breath betraying timeless worship, "but he said…" A war of practiced denial and desperate hope flashed in the glowing eyes.

"Hojo is a thief and a liar. He stole Lucrecia from you, stole twenty-three years of your life, he tried to steal your own child from you. Did you know, I thought he was my _father_ all this time?" Sephiroth's mouth twisted with the admittance. "I believed him too, I would still believe him if not for one man."

"Sephiroth. She must have named you; she always loved the stars." Vincent's eyes were roving his face, alight with a quenchless hunger.

Sephiroth did not flitch from the gaze, his own eyes were devouring the man before him with the same thirst. He had believed the letter, known that this man had played a role in his creation, but it wasn't until seeing Vincent he realize how much he _needed_ that fact to be truth. He could never go back to believing Hojo had the claim of blood over him, he could no longer bear the thought.

Vincent broke the stare, his face slipping back behind the carful veil. Sephiroth did not mind. Vincent was a Turk, he expected no less of the man. There would be no outpouring of guilt and tearful embraces, there was no place for them here, and no one who wanted them.

Vincent swung his legs over the coffin's side, slowly standing to his feet. They were almost of the same height, and Sephiroth took secret pleasure in this too. Vincent's eyes met his levelly; Sephiroth did not have to look down at a hunched disjoined figure.

….

Sephiroth led the way down the rocky mountain path, back towards the concealed helicopter. He had been careful not to alert the town's people of the Shinra presence, there would be no clue to connect the disappearance of Vincent with him when Hojo discovered it.

They walked in silence, but there was nothing uncomfortable in it. It was merely the absence of voice. Sephiroth enjoyed the ghost of companionship it whispered of, the promise of someday.

There had been no need for Vincent to voice his reluctance to spend any more time in the Shinra mansion, it had seeped from every tendon in the man's frame. Now Vincent was awake, within his reach, Sephiroth had been just as anxious to leave the unwholesome house. He controlled the restlessness of his mind. He craved answers, impatiently anticipating the horded words Vincent's scrolled mouth would share. The questions burned through Sephiroth's veins; questions he hoped to soon have answers for.

The path spilled them into the obscure ravine, exposing the waiting helicopter to them. "I shall have to return to Wutai in a day or two, but I would like…if you want…" It felt odd having to ask for the man's presence, but Sephiroth sensed that Vincent's did not give his company lightly.

"That would be fine." Vincent answered the unfinished request. "Wutai?" He question, and Sephiroth realized suddenly, how far Vincent was behind the world.

Vincent did not know there had been a war for most of Sephiroth's life. Vincent did not know Sephiroth was The General, he knew nothing about Sephiroth. It was a strange feeling, to start from nothing. But then, Sephiroth knew almost nothing about Vincent. The discovery would take far longer than a few days, though it seemed Vincent was in no hurry to spill the story of his life, but Sephiroth did not expect him to. They had years before them, the confidences would be earned or not given at all. Sephiroth smirked to himself –like father like son—he realized he wouldn't want it any other way.

…

Sephiroth discovered many things about Vincent Valentine in the next two days. Vincent had made it clear he would take revenge upon Hojo, something Sephiroth was not about to dissuade him from, but Vincent had not been forthcoming about what exactly he planned. Sephiroth was beginning to learn the meaning of Vincent's silences. Some were answers, some the voiceless question, others were just plan stubbornness. Sephiroth forced himself not to become frustrated, he disliked the emotion and had been feeling far too much of it of late. Vincent had his own mind and wasn't about to crumble under the hard stares of The General Sephiroth. Sephiroth wasn't used to having his wishes denied, but he discovered a secret pleasure in their silent challenges, and he didn't think he was the only one.

Sephiroth offered to take Vincent to Midgar, and Vincent had accepted the ride. The most Sephiroth ascertained of Vincent's plans of revenge was that Vincent intended to make Midgar his base of operations –Sephiroth would not use the word 'home' to categories anywhere the cloaked man resided. Sephiroth was pleased with Vincent's decision, even if Vincent wasn't going to tell him his designs yet, at least he'd be in the vicinity. He was _not_ going to let the ex-Turk take Hojo down without him.

As Sephiroth had suspected, it was not easy worming answers out of Valentine, but he would be patient. From what Vincent had shared, Sephiroth had felt the deep pain permeating the man's past. As anxious as Sephiroth was to know everything that had happened to him, his mother, and Vincent, he would not push –to hard. Lucrecia and the experiments Hojo had performed on Vincent were the most guarded of the ex-Turks secrets, but Vincent was freer with information on Jenova. This topic interested Vincent as well, their knowledge overlapped in places, but there were some things Sephiroth knew that Vincent had not.

Vincent was also curious, and not a little suspicious, of the identity of the mysterious young writer. He did not liked the unknown anymore then Sephiroth. The idea of someone knowing such intimate details about both their lives was disturbing. The second letter had given no further clues as to how the writer had acquired his knowledge, and Sephiroth was as troubled as Vincent over the nature of the knowledge. How could the stranger know the exact nature of Genesis and Angeal's deterioration? Sephiroth was forced to set the questions aside until he could speak with the writer again.

There was a part of Sephiroth that wished he had never read this second letter. Would it not have been better to be left in ignorance rather than knowing his friends were almost surely doomed to death? But he could not believe that. He held onto the slim hope his cells offered, but what if by giving his cells he only hastened their deaths? No, he could not entertain sure thoughts. Somehow he would find them in time and convince them to accept the possible cure. He had to believe they would survive. He admitted his own loneliness, but only to his secret soul. This emotion, like all others, was a weakness to be buried, deep within, where no one could use it as a blade against him.

When they reached Midgar, Vincent took his silent leave, giving the unspoken promise with crimson eyes, to find Sephiroth again. When Sephiroth mounted the pilot's seat again he felt the weight of the return journey about his neck. _He did not have time for this_! Genesis and Angeal needed him. Vincent had walked away, setting out to undertake the mission _he_ wanted. Hojo, the monster, was still breathing.

Wutai was so far from Midgar, leagues between Sephiroth and a promised meeting. Soon though, a week at the most before he would be able to return, and then he would know; maybe not everything, but a hand would have a face to accompany it in his mind, of that Sephiroth would ensure. He had let the young man escape last time, but he had waited long enough.

He simply had to _know_. The more he learned of the stranger the more he burned for. It was unexplainable, and the power of his need was alarming. Sephiroth had been irrationally pleased with everything he had learned about the informant. He was young, male, had a soft musical voice, and beautiful hands… _why did that matter?_ He was intrigued and confused. He knew almost nothing about the young man, and yet he found himself believing the sincerity of the stranger's words.

Vincent was far from convinced in the nobility of the young man's actions, he was sure there was an ulterior motive. Sephiroth had thought so at first, and still had lingering doubts, but he found himself _wanting_ to believe the stranger was not trying to deceive him or use him. The young man had asked nothing of Sephiroth, had only given. Sephiroth had the truth of his parents, he had Vincent, he might even had a way to save Genesis and Angeal, and it was all because of the stranger.

_Are you so taken in by a few pretty words_? He scoffed at his own naivety. _Nobel acts?_ No one did something for nothing. How many times had he learned and re-learned this truth through pain and humiliation? How could he trust this stranger? But he did. It was absurd, dangerous, idiotic to the highest degree, and still his _need_ to trust overrode him common sense.

It wasn't the young man's words, words could be twisted to their owners ends easily enough, but it was the unexplainable connection he'd felt pouring from the stranger. The young man knew things about Sephiroth no one else did. It left him feeling vulnerable but also…excited.

The stranger knew exactly what Sephiroth was. He knew about Hojo, the experiments. No, he more than knew, he _understood_. The understanding went deeper than the unwanted pity Sephiroth had felt from Angeal at times –Genesis would never pity him. Genesis recognized Sephiroth's pride as a mirror of his own. Sephiroth now knew that Genesis and Angeal had these terrible experiments in common, and it drew him to them, but they had not know before, they had not _remembered_ like Sephiroth remembered.

Yet this stranger had comprehended, somehow he knew as Sephiroth knew, what it was like to be used and played with like an animal, humanity stripped away. The knowledge was in every line he'd written, in the compressed torture of his words when he spoke Hojo's name. It was the only viable explanation Sephiroth had for the unexplained information the young man had. It couldn't explain everything the stranger knew, but if he too had been one of Hojo's experiments...

Sephiroth knew how twisted he was that he was actually hoping it was true. _What kind of person wishes for another to fall into Hojo's hands, to live through what he had? A monster did_… He shut the thoughts away. That was an old worn-out string of thoughts, one he had traveled far too many times in the past. He was not a monster, he knew that now, his father's name was Vincent Valentine, his mother was Lucrecia Crescent.

But there was Jenova…her cells in him, twisting him… He was tainted, his soul corrupted. The stranger had brought him only the truth and hope, and he had wished a fate worse than death upon him just so they could share an _understanding_. Just so he did not have to be alone, but he deserved to be. He was selfish, even now he could not repress the shameful excitement humming through his bones at the thought of meeting the stranger, meeting someone who might understand.

He may be tainted, and selfish but that did not change how much he wanted to meet the young man. Sephiroth wanted to know him. He wanted to know _everything_ about him.

…

The gun disappeared beneath the blue suit, invisible as if its owner had not just shot two rounds into a smuggler's head at point-blank range. Tseng brushed a speck of soot off his suit before cooling walking out of the warehouse. It was a necessary but ultimately useless mission. As long as there were humans there would be those trying to scrape a profit out of the unfortunate.

Smuggled medical supplies sold for ten times their weight in Gil on the black market. Tseng knew how desperate the situation was under the Plate. Disease ravaged the malnourished bodies, spreading like wild fire through polluted sewers. However, this did not change the fact that Shinra goods were being stolen.

Tseng was not a philanthropist, he was a Turk. And like so many disillusioned citizens of the Shinra Empire and anti-Shinra militant groups loved to remind the Blue Suits: He was a Shinra Dog.

His lip curled in a sneer that he quickly whisked away, tucked back in the metal box of emotion. Turks were, after all, supposed to be as close to unfeeling-stone as a human being could get. He ruthlessly cut off that line of thought. It didn't matter how those outside the Turks saw them, a Turk is what Tseng was. And a Turk was how he would die.

He walked down the trashed slum streets, noting with cool amusement how ordinary humans quelled and shied away from the suit he wore, turning wide, frightened eyes on him as they scuttled quickly away. He remembered a time he'd not found such twisted amusement in their fear, but he'd long since graduated from the over-sensitive feelings of a rookie. Unlike some of the other Turks he did not revel in the fear, only looked upon it with a distant humor. It was only when a Turk was a newborn that they still strung high upon the Power of that fear. Time and experience brought the knowledge of helplessness. Turks had power, oh yes, the power of the gun, of death, but that is where the power ended and the slavery began. Dogs to Shinra indeed.

It didn't matter though. Tseng was a Turk, and not ashamed of it. He'd been a scrawny boy, half-starved and long since striped of the innocence of childhood by the war that had torn his country of Wutai apart, when Veld had found him and given him something more precious than power: a place to belong. Whatever the Turks were or were not, they were loyal to their own. In the Turks Tseng had found brothers and sisters and in Veld a mentor to rival the father who had never been there.

Tseng's fingers twitched in a movement he'd long since learned to suppress. Thoughts of his past, of his parents, of cruel, proud Wutai, left him wanting to touch the mark branded into the skin of his forehead. Touch it, rub it, cover it, obliterate it. He'd been given it as a babe, fresh from his mother's unwed womb, and it marked him bastard, unwanted child, in a country that measured its children in blood.

Wutai was tradition. How many times had Tseng heard Wutai's honor and pride and history sung at street corners by old men and zealots' youth? In Wutai a person was only as valuable as the lineage they could trace back to their grandfather and their grandfather's grandfather. A boy without even a father was the trash all the straight-blooded trod upon.

Tseng's mouth twisted in old bitterness, but this too he'd long since learned to stomp out. He wasn't defined by the mark of his mother's mistake anymore. He was so much more then the backwards thinking puritans of Wutai could have ever imagined when they'd kicked him about like the stray village dog.

And yet…and yet it did not change how powerless the new Director of the Turks was despite everything he'd become.

He thought of eyes soft as spring, wavy hair haloed by sunlight as it the Planet was marking her as its child with light. Aries. Aeirs who was perfect, untouchable, so far far far above him. Aeirs who was marked for delivery, wrapped up in her pretty pink ribbons, ready for the order to come down from above and the Turks (ever efficient, ever loyal) to execute. Aries who he'd watched for years and made the mistake as a young, inexperienced rookie of befriending. A mistake he'd never quite been able to rectify, wasn't quite sure he wanted to. There was no-one else like the young flower girl, could never be, and Tseng didn't know who he'd be if he'd never had the pleasure (curl, slow torture) of meeting her all those years ago.

He played with the thought of ignoring the order when it did come. There was nothing he enjoyed quite so much as thwarting the science department, Hojo in particular. That department had always left a bad taste in his mouth. The less the Turks had to do with them the better. Unfortunately the Turks were the go-call for all covert operations in Shinra. They were the clean up group, the rumor control, and that more often than not was a result of the science department's fuckups.

But Tseng knew when the time came, and Hojo turned his attention to the girl who'd escaped his clutches all those years ago, he would be what he'd chosen to be: a Turk. A Shinra Dog. A cockroach. He'd made his choice long ago in the blood-stained lands of Wutai. He'd picked Shinra, the Turks. He'd pulled on the blue suit, felt it fit over his bones and muscles and the guns he carried like limbs underneath, and knew he would be buried in it.

Tseng was pulled from his thoughts by a flash of red disappearing into the long shadows of late dusk. The alabaster face had been caught in the teasing light of the sunset for only a heartbeat, but it was enough to cause a ripple of shock to transverse Tseng's mind. Tseng was not the Head of the Turks for nothing, he had an excellent memory and liked to claim he never forgot a face, but he must have been mistaken. And yet…

Tseng melted into the dark alley where the walking shadow had disappeared into. But there was no trace of the man, or ghost? Tseng had done his own research on Veld's long dead partner, but there was little to discover. Vincent Valentine had been one of the best Turks in their history, and as such there was scare to mark his passing. The better the Turk the higher the classification of their assignments, and Vincent had worked almost exclusively with the highest degree. But the picture of the dark haired, pale skinned man was branded in Tseng's mind.

Tseng's eyes darted into the shadow's one last time. He had only seen the face in profile. The hair had flow out in a long mass of ebony strands, held back by a red band. It couldn't possibly have been a dead man.

Tseng shook his head; he needed to catch up on his sleep it seemed. Being Director of the Turks must not be agreeable to his sanity, it certainly was not helping his sleep pattern. He sighed, pulling his dark eyes away. _A trick of the light._

Vincent watched the olive skinned Turk until the man was lost in the gloom. He was out of practice it seemed. The Turk had obviously spotted him, but why follow him? Vincent didn't know the younger man, twenty-three years was a long time, and this Turk looked no older then he had been when he'd taken Hojo's bullet.

It felt like an eternity since he'd worn the blue suit. Vincent felt the sting of regret, but brushed it away. That life was lost to him now. The Turks had become the greatest threat standing between him and Hojo's blood. His old life was dead to him, Hojo had made sure of that. Vincent had lost everything. No not everything, not anymore.

Sephiroth, his son was _alive_. Vincent had failed him, though. He could see it in the frosty eyes, eyes that had endured things never meant for human beings. And yet, Sephiroth had found a way to survive alone. He was strong, more than Vincent could have ever dreamed. Strong and beautiful.

Vincent could see nothing of Lucrecia in him, but it was easier that way. Perhaps it was his own wishful thinking, but he thought he saw pieces of himself in Sephiroth. He secreted the small glimpses away, placing them next to the coveted gems he kept of every word, every look his son had shed since Vincent's eyes had first drunk in the cherished face. He placed the memories of the last two days into the secret part of his soul that he had once thought had crumbled away to meaningless ash.

Vincent Valentine, the man who had died, closed his unnatural glowing eyes, and sucked in the breath of life, his heart pounding out the rhythm of his revenge against his chest. Hojo would suffer, like he had suffered, as Lucrecia and their child had suffered.

He would have his revenge, but first he needed a weapon.


	10. Chapter 10

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 10

Cloud clenched his hand into a tight ball, trying to stop the trembling. A shaky breath escaped his parted lips. He had put this meeting off long enough. Was he really such a coward? Cloud shoved the window open, nearly shattering it with the force. He was not going to be a scared little boy.

Sephiroth's voice invaded his mind, mocking him, taunting him, whispered poison dripping into his soul. He would never be free of its corruption. _"On your knees, I want you to beg for forgiveness." _

Cloud felt his legs weaken under the assault, he caught hold of the window frame. The past stalked him, its teeth biting at his heels, drawing out the blood of his soul. Suddenly the ravenous memories were silenced, others sweeping in, pulling him to their soft breast. Sephiroth offering Zack a crooked smile, telling him they'd see each other soon. Sephiroth telling Cloud he wouldn't hurt him, a murmured wish to meet _him_.

He sucked in a breath, gulping the stagnant office air. He was not going to _that_ Sephiroth, the one whose laugh had haunted his dreams for years. This Sephiroth still had the potential to hurt him, but Cloud knew he would not. There would be no words slicing through his fragile skin. This Sephiroth was Zack's Sephiroth. The one from the cherished memories. The friend.

Cloud hauled himself onto the window's ledge, his hand's grasping for handholds. It was a good thing he had no fear of heights, he was now teetering on the edge of the Shinra building –the 28th floor.

Cloud had debated how he wished to approach Sephiroth. Security was his number one priority. He couldn't risk anyone overhearing their conversation. Privacy was also a must. Cloud had argued his decision to actually meet Sephiroth, for long weeks. He had still not come to a decision by the time the General had return to Midgar, robed in the glory of victory. That was over a week ago.

If he admitted the truth to himself he knew he had put this meeting off out of fear. Fear of the voice, the eyes, the questions, and perhaps the greatest fear –fear of the unknown. Sephiroth's behavior had confused him. He could still feel the odd tingle of Sephiroth's fingertips tracing his veins, running up smooth skin.

He shook the tendril of thought away. This was no time for unnerving reminiscence. It had not been difficult for Cloud to gain access to the empty conference room from which he had just climbed, but now he was perched on the side of the massive building, and he had to move.

Cloud began his assent, crawling up the side of the complex like a little spider. It took him longer then he would have liked, but he had no equipment and his jeans were not as loose as they once had been. Cloud had gained some muscle in the last few months, but even more noticeable was the extra two inches he had tacked on to his height. His body was a far cry from the mako tampered one, but it was not the weak skinny one he had first awoken too.

Cloud counted the floors, not wanting to miss Sephiroth's quarters. A part of Cloud was terrified by the idea of breaking into Sephiroth's rooms, but the older, more reasonable side told him it was the most appropriate place to have this meeting –secure, private, safe.

Cloud had waited until Sunday before attempting the assent. Fewer Shinra personal were poking about the building, Cloud was not missing any training, and most importantly, he was almost positive Sephiroth would be in his rooms. Cloud had tracked the General's activities for long weeks and never once had he seen Sephiroth leave the higher security area on a Sunday. Of course Sephiroth could be in his office, which would put Cloud in a predicament, but he decided to cross that path if and when it came.

Cloud heaved himself onto the narrow ledge, getting his first glimpse of Sephiroth's apartment. Cloud peeked into the sparsely furnished living room. A couch and entertainment center occupied the far wall. He could see multiple doors leading to other rooms, but his attention was solely focused on the metallic desk situated directly in front of him.

Sephiroth had his back to Cloud, bent over some documents, his chin resting in his palm as long fingers tapped rhythmically on a curving armrest. Cloud swallowed down the nervousness. He could do this. He had to. He had promised Sephiroth he'd find him when the man came back from war, and he didn't intend to betray the other man, not out of cowardice.

Cloud's eyes swept over Sephiroth's form, noting the casual T-shirt pulled over the shapely leather pants. Sephiroth's relaxed attire calmed Cloud. This Sephiroth was different. There was no bloody sword clasped in his hands, hair whipping about him in a silver halo as if to imitate his god like aspirations. Cloud knew if he were to look into these green eyes he would not see the soulless abyss.

Cloud lifted his hand from its gritty hold, and tapped his knuckles lightly across the glass plane. Sephiroth's head snapped around, hand reaching automatically for the absent sword, grasping thin air. Cloud inwardly cringed as he felt his own instincts scream for one blinding moment, lashing across his nerves. His finger's twitched, but he quickly smothered the reaction. Sephiroth was not even armed, though Cloud knew Masamune would be somewhere in the apartment. He reminded himself again, as his blue eyes met hard emerald, sharp as cut jewels, that this was not _that _Sephiroth.

Sephiroth started at Cloud a moment, before eyes that had narrowed to slits, slowly relaxed. He rose smoothly from his chair, reaching the window in one stride of endless legs. Cloud saw the lingering tightness about Sephiroth's eyes, the only indication of the man's vigilant aura, but he expected nothing less from a warrior.

The window swung inward with a single click, dropping into the silence of the shadowed room. Cloud's ears were still hallowed by the twirling winds, scooping out the high crevices of the building, but the room held a watchful silence, reflecting its sole occupant.

Cloud gathered his shaky nerves and broke through the tension. "Hello Sephiroth."

The change was immediate. The ice melted from Sephiroth's eyes as the man shifted his weight, subtly dropping the offensive stance.

"You came. I was beginning to think you would not." Sephiroth swung the window farther open. "You do not have to sit upon my window ledge all day."

Cloud could hear the hinting tease in the words, and he forced himself not to stare at the anomaly before him. He slipped into the room, Sephiroth deftly closing the window behind him. Cloud was alone with Sephiroth, in the man's apartment. _Stay call._ _Remember, this is Zack's Sephiroth._

"You are younger than I thought." Eyes measured him, unknown thoughts swirling in green depths. They settled upon equally piercing blue. "No, not young at all."

"I am older then I look."

"So it seems." The questions danced behind the eyes, begging for release, but Sephiroth's tongue did not form them. He held to his promise not to ask –for now.

"Well…" Sephiroth gestured towards the couch, the only furniture filling the room besides the sleek desk.

"Hum," Cloud gave a little nod, trying to ignore the nervousness crawling just beneath his skin.

Cloud keep the middle cushion between them as he sank into the leathery embrace. He was surprised by the emptiness for Sephiroth's rooms, but not at his few choices of furnishings. Black leather and cool metal.

Sephiroth spoke again before the silence could become oppressive. Cloud wondered how long it would take the man to realized exactly how tight-lipped his guest was. "Vincent is in Midgar."

Sapphire irises waited, asking for more without words.

"I will tell you, but first, will you tell me more of Genesis and Angeal's sickness."

Cloud shifted, "What else is there to tell? They were injected with Jenova cells causing the mutation and cloning."

"Is there no other way to save them but through my cells?" Sephiroth leaned forward, as if to gather up Cloud's every utterance.

Cloud refused to shrink away from the eyes, reminding himself again and again that they were not _those_ eyes, but could they penetrate as deeply? "I am not a scientist, and do not known of another way."

Disappointment flashed in the other's gaze, before being whisked behind cool jade. "I see."

"You'll find them Sephiroth." Sephiroth's orbs snapped to his with the breathy discernment.

"But in time? How can I convince them if I cannot even find them?" Hopelessness slipped into the low tones. "And Genesis will not listen, I know him. He will take nothing from _me_."

Cloud looked away, feeling his own helplessness to save the two dying SOLDIERS, and his inadequacy to find words of reassurance for the man beside him.

"Nothing is certain. I think in the end, Genesis and Angeal will find you, or at least you will meet them, as friend or foe. The challenge lies in the convincing I think, but…I believe you will reach them." He examined his hands, not wanting to witness the failure of his comfort.

Creamy fingers brushed Cloud's hand, and he instinctively jerked away from the sudden touch. His gaze leaping up to meet the others. Shuttered eyes met his as Sephiroth withdrew the unwanted touch.

"Sorry…you startled me." Cloud mumbled.

He hated himself for feeling like a misbehaving child. Why did he allow Sephiroth to affect him so? Running after a mad man, trailing in his wake across the world, begging him to let Cloud's lesser mind understand. He felt sick.

"Are you alright?" Cloud couldn't face the suddenly concerned voice.

The Voice_. No! Not here, not now._ He had to get a hold of himself. "Fine." The word trembled even in his own ears.

"I did not mean to upset you. I forgot your…aversion to my touch." Sephiroth could not entirely mask the sting of Cloud's reaction, it leaked into his voice.

Cloud flinched away from the emotion. He should not be able to hurt Sephiroth, that was Sephiroth's place over him. Cloud had never had the power before, and now that he did, he did not want it. "No. It's not…I didn't mean…"

Tentative finger's moved to meet still, pale ones. Cloud was amazed at his own boldness, but as his smaller hand brushed Sephiroth's, and the man did not pull away, did not lash out to hurt, Cloud felt his hovering fear retreat.

He was touching Zack's Sephiroth. He felt a sad little smile tug his heart. How long had he dwelt upon this other Sephiroth? And now that he finally saw him with his own eyes, he had nearly been too frightened of the Sephiroth who had hounded him for ten years of his life, to see this new one.

Cloud moved to draw his hand back into his lap, but was startled when Sephiroth laced the tips of their fingers together. Cloud's breath caught, stunned and bewildered by the action. His confusion mounted as Sephiroth slid across the barrier cushion, closing the distance between them.

Cloud's muscles knotted, alarms clashing with his new calm. Sephiroth. Danger. Too close. Years of drilled instincts battled against the fresh understanding, threatening to obliterate the new tolerance like a late frost withering the spring buds.

He fought against the impulse to lash out at the too close danger; and swallowed down his trembling when hot breath ghosted across his cheek. He watched Sephiroth from the corner of his eye, concentrating on deep breaths as his mind scrambled to make sense of what this new strange Sephiroth was doing.

Cloud did not have to wait long before understanding came. A firm touch upon his chin, turning his face, before lips fell onto his. It felt more like a punch then a kiss. It was but the blink of an eye. Cloud's lower lip was cut in the clumsy advance, as teeth knocked together. It was probably the worst kiss Cloud had ever shared. It might have been saved, but Cloud was too frozen to move and Sephiroth quickly pulled back.

"I..should not have…" green eyes flickered away. Cloud stared as the barest tint of pink flushed marble skin, before being repressed. Sephiroth dropped their joined hand, clenching his into a fist.

Cloud could think of nothing to say, and the silence lengthened horribly. Sephiroth's gaze shifted back to him, immediately dropping to Cloud's bleeding lip. Cloud's tongue darted out to lick up the pooling liquid, trying to erase the evidence.

Then Sephiroth was on his feet, all grace battering against the strain of the moment. "I am…excuse me."

With that the man was walking away. Cloud watched the tall form until the bedroom door broke the stare with a forceful click as it shut behind Sephiroth.

Cloud sat in perplexed silence. Sephiroth had _kissed_ him, and then _run away_? Cloud could not relate either of these actions with either one of the Sephiroth's he had constructed in his mind. Sephiroth touching his hand, wanting to meet him was strange enough, but this? This was incomprehensible. The last few minutes slipped through Cloud's fingers as he tried to unsuccessfully sort out this new confusion. He finally gave up. He'd never understand the man.

Cloud couldn't shake the past though. His mind immediately tried to dissect the encounter to find the point of his own weakness Sephiroth would inevitably use against him. This must be some new game of Sephiroth's to play with Cloud's mind.

He struggled to silence these paranoid musings. This was not _that _Sephiroth. It had obviously been a mistake, Sephiroth had as good as said so. Why would _Sephiroth_ really want to kiss _him_? He wasn't going to be able to unravel this new disturbing turn of events until Sephiroth came back.

Cloud's eyes lingered on the closed door again. _What was he doing in there? _Cloud shifted on the couch, throwing a glance at the window. _Should he leave?_ Cloud didn't want to leave things on this rocky slope. If he left now he'd probably never have the courage to come back, he'd never hear about Vincent. Vincent, how he longed for the man's presence. Vincent would tell him what the hell Sephiroth was thinking –or maybe not. Either way his was a presence sorely missed.

A sigh escaped Cloud's lips. He would just have to wait for Sephiroth to emerge. Cloud's head sunk back into the couch. Things had been going so well! He'd just managed to relax in the man's presence, and they had been able to hold a short conversation without Cloud bolting or attacking Sephiroth.

Cloud's lashes slid closed as the minutes stole away. The couch was wonderfully soft, so much better than his lumpy mattress.

More minutes.

If Sephiroth did not come back soon Cloud was going to go in and get him! But he would give the man a few more minutes. Cloud's head slipped, his body folding into the corner of the supple warmth….

Cloud pressed his cheek deeper into the soft heat, a sigh of contentment pulled from his lips. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in such a comfortable bed, it felt like months. His mind clutched at the scattering fog of sleep, he didn't want to wake up. A spicy aroma flooded his senses, snapping his eyes open.

Cloud's hand fumbled for absent weapons as his mind panicked, eyes flying about an unfamiliar room. This was not the cadet dorms, this couch was not his bumpy bed. The blood slowly drained from his screaming ears as his mind adjusted to the wakeful world.

He was in Sephiroth's apartment, and he'd fallen asleep! Sephiroth was not to be trusted, enemy, danger…. Cloud threw the bent warnings aside. Sephiroth had not hurt him, he'd…kissed him.

Cloud's hand settled in the soft blanket someone –Sephiroth—must had covered him with. His hand tightened in the downy softness, grabbing onto the russet coverlet like a drowning man grasps a rope. Humiliating. Sephiroth had tucked him in like a child!

The clatter of metal hitting glass slapped Cloud out of his bleak thoughts. Harsh florescent light cut through the shade of the sun's setting rays. The sound of tearing paper came from the kitchen. Cloud knew who was in there, but his body refused to rise. He wanted to slink out the window and never return. Now that Sephiroth had surfaced from his bedroom, the inevitable meeting was looking more unappealing by the minute to Cloud.

_Stop being a coward! You've looked down his scarlet stain blade. Looked into eyes blazing with hate and promising an agonizing death. You can walk into the damn kitchen! _

He padded soundless across the wooden floor, but paused in the entrance, not quite daring to edge around the steel colored refrigerator, and meet the penetrating eyes.

"I am not going to attack you." Cloud jumped at the cool voice, forcing down a flush before straightening his shoulders and confidently stepping forward, keeping his face blank.

"I know."

Sephiroth didn't look up. He finished dumping the contents of a takeout container into a waiting glass bowel. He motioned Cloud towards the neatly stacked plates and silverware. "Would you set those on the table."

"Right." Cloud didn't point out that he was not hungry and would like nothing more than to escape Sephiroth's company.

A modest table was tucked into a concave at the back of the kitchen. Three empty chairs were squeezed around it, and Cloud tried to imagine the three bodies meant to occupy them. Three heads: coal-black, rust-red, and pearly-gray. Cloud wondered if teasing grins would ever steal over Sephiroth's scrolling mouth. Cloud had never see the mouth curved in anything but a cruel smirk.

He shook the vision aside, it left him feeling hallow. Cloud tensed when he felt Sephiroth behind him. Turning shapely, he caught the flicker of a grimace over the man's face before Sephiroth pulled in back into a neutral mask.

Sephiroth set two bowels down on the table without comment. Guilt crept over Cloud like a drenching mist, but he could not root out instincts bred from years of hunting and being hunted. He did not really think Sephiroth was going to plunge a sword through his back, but it was hard getting his body to relax. He was Cloud Strife. He did not relax.

They sat in heavy silence, Cloud was already predicting this to be one of the worst meals of his life. They dished out their noodles and greens, the serving utensils the only sounds scraping the room.

Cloud rolled the spicy tang of the butter-slick pasta over his tongue, thankful for the excuse not to have to pick at the dead silence. It was Sephiroth who broke it. "I should not have done that…it upset you."

The closest thing Cloud had ever heard to an apology from the man's lips, but it did not matter, he didn't think there was anything to apologize for. He was confused yes, but not hurt. "Its fine." He kept his eyes on his plate.

Silence. Then a voice filled with twisted mockery, "I am sure you thought The Great Sephiroth would be a better kisser."

Cloud frowned, hating the self-loathing saturating the words. He looked up at Sephiroth through his lashes, but the emerald eyes were drawn inward, cutting into the man's core with their own sharpness. Cloud didn't know what to say and he cursed his own ineptitude in speech. He scrambled for something to draw the pain away, and cast the other man's thoughts on safer ground.

"You said Vincent's in Midgar?" The other's gaze focused on him again and he read the glimmer of gratitude before it was skillfully concealed, but Cloud felt a measure of relief.

He realized he wanted some form of friendship with Sephiroth. He didn't know how deep, nor how long it would take for him to overlook the past. He was trying, but it was turning out to be harder than he had at first thought. However, it seemed there was hope they could move passed this afternoon.

The conversation was halting at first, filled with tight pauses and careful words, but as the meal progressed it eased into a more comfortable vein. Cloud's absent voice and watchful silences had contributed to the unease. Cloud had forced more words then customary passed his lips, but he struggled to fill the gaps, just as he had struggled for years.

He had sensed Sephiroth's initial uncertainty, he imagined the man thought he was still upset from earlier, but Sephiroth soon began closing the gaps himself. They finished the meal in an easy silence. Neither of them were prone to chatter, silence was their natural domain.

Sephiroth brushed aside Cloud's offer to help clean up, for which Cloud was thankful. The sky was pitch black, no silver starlight seeping through the blanket of smog. Cloud had already stayed too long, and it would be a dangerous climb back down.

Sephiroth tried to convince Cloud to let him take him back to the main entry. Cloud read the voiceless question. Cloud had not shared his name, or his position in Shinra, and he wasn't about to. He may have built up the courage to meet Sephiroth in person, but he wasn't ready from him to _know_ him.

Cloud refused the offer, though he could read Sephiroth's frustration, both at his stubbornness to attempt the climb and his unwillingness to trust him as Sephiroth saw it. But Sephiroth did not know him, did not know what secrets he clung to. He trusted Sephiroth not to hurt him, and he knew the man would not betray any secrets Cloud revealed, but to tell Sephiroth would be to bare himself before him. Stripped to the nakedness of his soul, and that he was not ready to do, would probably never be able to do.

"…I'll be fine." Cloud insisted again as he moved towards the window. He had certainly done things twenty times this dangerous, he was not going to fall, darkness or no.

A hand curling about his arm stopped him. "Wait. You haven't said if you are coming back."

Cloud could feel the heat of the body behind him, hair slid across his bare arm like liquid ice. His nose flooded with the heady scent of masculinity. Too close. The calm was shattered by the touch, the scent, the feel of the other. He hesitated, suddenly unsure if pursuing a friendship with Sephiroth was even possible. His mind was going crazy at the proximity, his hand itching for the familiar feel of First Tsurugi in his palm.

"You will not return." The hand was dropped, Cloud felt the coolness of the others absence at his back. "Is it...because I kissed you?" The stiff question echoed through the silence.

Cloud turned finally, facing the coldly blank face. He couldn't bear to see that look in those eyes. To close to the _other_ eyes, the ones he refused to think of. The ice of this gaze too like the dead nothing of…

He would make this better. "I don't think it really counted as a kiss, so why don't we…"

Sephiroth's voice cut through Cloud's lighter one, like a sharpened blade. "Do not mock me." Cloud's eyes widened, but before he could deny the accusation the voice continued. "Forgive me if I have little experience in these matters." Acid dripped from every word.

"I wasn't trying to mock you, I just thought…you mean you've never…?" Cloud had assumed it had been the awkwardness of a mistake, not complete inexperience.

Muted green's look away, "I have never felt the desire too. I did not want someone who would only coveted me for my body, my position, because I am The General."

"I am sorry," his discomfort thickening the words, "I can understand that." He certainly did. He had had his share of people wanting him because of what he was –Cloud Strife, World Savor, fucking hero—and not because of _who_ he was.

"I…would like to come back." He shifted under the concentrated stare.

"I want that as well." A pause, then, "Will you not at least tell me your first name? Is it so much to give?"

"I would but I…it's a rather unique name."

"And my knowing your identity would be so terrible?"

Cloud's eyes flickered to the closed window, hating these probing questions. "Soon. I'll tell you soon, besides you'll find out either way, but I'd like to tell you myself."

The SOLDIER exams were less than a month away, and there would be no hiding after that, not now he had been fool enough to reveal his face. He could only hope it had not been a mistake. He didn't think he could handle a Sephiroth bombarding him with questions, demanding answers, but maybe it didn't have to be that way. Sephiroth could have strapped him down and attempt to force the answers out of Cloud, but he had not, he would not. Maybe it would not be such a terrible thing for Sephiroth to know, at least what Zack and Kunsel did…

"Cloud. My name is Cloud." He could always be counted on to fuck things up, he just prayed this wasn't one of those time.

"Cloud." Sephiroth tasted the word. It was not quite like any other time that voice had used it.

Cloud felt relief when the memories did not beat into his skull. He almost smiled at the escape, but he kept his lips neutral, only giving another small nod in acknowledgment. He would leave the discovery of the remaining pieces of his identity to Sephiroth, but Cloud supposed there was little to tell in official documents. None held his most guarded secrets, and no one breathing knew the real Cloud Strife.

He pushed the lingering sadness of this truth away. He was not alone, not entirely. He had Zack and Kunsel, and one day he might be able to add Sephiroth to the list. Perhaps that was too optimistic, he could only hope they never became enemies, that he never had to look into those soulless eyes again.

"I'll come again." Cloud cracked the window open, swinging his legs over. He was careful not to say _when_ he would next come. This meeting had shredded his nerves to ribbons. The next might be easier, but nothing was certain.

"Good-bye Cloud."


	11. Chapter 11

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 11

The apartment door slid shut with a forlorn little click. Zack suppressed a sigh, and began the long trek to his sword practical class. He hadn't realized how addicted he'd become to Kunsel's almost constant presence until the other Second was gone. Zack shook away the morose thoughts, Kunsel would be back next week from his mission, just in time to send Spiky off to the SOLDIER exams.

An excited grin curled the sides of Zack's mouth. He had no doubt the boy would pass the exams with flying colors, and he couldn't wait to see Cloud proudly garbed in a Third's uniform. Zack couldn't help the wiggling hope that if Cloud were a SOLDIER he'd be more forthcoming with his secrets. Zack and Kunsel had been patient for long months now, but the lack of confidence had worn on him. He'd had to replay the boy's promise to tell them one day, over and over in his head when detested lies and secrets overwhelmed him. But now only a few days stood between Cloud and SOLDIER.

Zack was confident Cloud would reveal himself soon. He was not blind to the anguish in blue orbs when pieces of his frustration slid through his strained control, but he could not be expected to wait forever. It had been so hard to sustain his fragile trust in the boy after Angeal's betrayal, but then, everything had cut him, like shards of glass, when he had first come home.

Zack wrestled the image of Angeal's turned-back away, locking the pain behind nearly-translucent bars, but they held for now. He was not going to let the demon of that sorrow stalk him again. He had put it in the past –almost—at least the wound had scabbed over and he had been able to move on. It would hold until the final news came. The word of a death…. _No!_ Denial bit the thought off. Angeal was not going to die from the strange sickness. His mentor was too strong for death, nothing could touch him. A part of Zack whispered that these were the glossy dreams of a naïve puppy, and he was a man now, but the rest of him clung to the faded comfort of that passed life. It felt like eternity had fallen since then.

He quickened his pace, anxious to escape. He wished again for Kunsel's soothing presence. Smiles were easy when he was with Kunsel. Zack had begun to savor Saturday afternoons spent in lively spars with Kunsel and Cloud. He would sweat away the wisps of stubborn thoughts, grin and laugh until his face hurt and his sides ached. Kunsel and Zack had made it their goal to see Cloud smile at least once during these hours of carefree companionship. Some days they would have to wait until Cloud had a relaxing drink in his hands before they could tease out the flash of milky white, but it was always worth the wait.

Zack smirked on their remembered triumph. It was moments like those that made every falsehood Cloud emulated with his very breath, worth it. His mind raced forward to the coming weekend, the last they'd share with cadet Strife; it couldn't come fast enough for Zack.

Kunsel would be back. Zack wondered if he was too reliant on the other's company. Kunsel was the perfect best friend, but Zack felt selfish for monopolizing all the Second's time. Maybe he should find Kunsel a girlfriend…boyfriend? He'd never actually seen Kunsel expressing interest in anyone, strange. Zack ran through a list of potential candidates, but soon tossed them out one by one. None were good enough for his best friend. Kunsel deserved the finest, and Zack couldn't quite crush the persistent whisper that he didn't want to share his friend's company with another.

Zack rounded the last corner, a little bounce entering his step; he always enjoyed the mornings he spent teaching. It would never compete with a prime mission assignment, complete with vicious monsters, but it was defiantly a pleasurable task.

He slowed as he caught sight of the waiting figure, but then a grin stole over his face and he swiftly closed the distance. "General Sephiroth!" He hadn't seen the man in months, not since Wutai. Why was Sephiroth loitering about outside his class?

"Zachary," the deep voice greeted. "It is fortunate you arrived early, I would like a word."

"Sure thing!" Zack smoothed over any nervousness he felt with a layer of his usual enthusiasm.

"Can you be discreet SOLDIER?"

Zack's reply suddenly carried the weight of his age, the boyish grin slipping from his face. "Nothing will pass my lips, sir."

Sephiroth waved away the formality, "Sephiroth."

Zack nodded solemnly, waiting, the tension mounting in his belly. His thoughts had immediately flown to Angeal at the serious tone. _Please, don't let anything happen to him_. When Sephiroth still hesitated to speak, Zack's worry took hold of his tongue. "Is it Angeal? Has anything happened to him?"

"No… at least nothing new." Zack was surprised to see the slight softening of Sephiroth's eyes as he looked at him. The voice picked up a calming tone, soothing over Zack's straining fear.

Zack let the tension roll out of him on the breath of a long exhale. But Sephiroth was not finished, and the next words snapped him out of his temporary peace. "It is about one of your cadets…cadet Strife."

"Spiky?"

Sephiroth frowned, "I believe the cadet's name is Cloud Strife."

"Yeah Cloud, I just call him Spiky because of his hair."

"I see." Zack watched the frown darken green depths. "You are…close to this cadet?"

Zack hesitated. He didn't know what Cloud had done to alert the General to his existence, but this could go very very badly. "He's a good kid, and one of my students." He replied non-committaly, neither answering the claim nor denying it.

Sharp eyes did not release him, and he struggled not to squirm under their hardness, but Cloud was his friend and he'd promised to hold the boy's secrets. He was not going to fail him now that that promise was being tested.

"I wish to speak with you after your class, SLODIER, and also cadet Strife. Will you ask him to stay after? But do not tell him it is I who wishes to speak with him." Sephiroth had framed it as a question, but Zack could hear the thinly veiled order.

Still, he had to know what Sephiroth wanted with Cloud. "You wish to speak with him?" The question rolled slowly from his mouth.

"Yes."

"Huh. Why?"

"It is no concern of yours." Sephiroth clipped.

Zack weighed his choices. "You asked me if I was close with Strife, well the answer is yes. I consider Cloud a friend. He's a good kid, and I don't want to see him in trouble."

Some of the steel thawed from Sephiroth's eyes. "I am not here to punish Cloud, I only wish to speak with him."

Zack caught the familiarity of address. "You know Cloud?"

Sephiroth studied him for another moment, and then, "Yes, I believe we are…friends, but that is not common knowledge, do you understand Zachary?"

Zack was pleased Sephiroth had adopted his name again, even if it was his full one. He was surprised at Sephiroth's trust, he understood how perilous Cloud's connection to the General could be for the boy. He wondered if his old position as Angeal's puppy had anything to do with the confidence, but he quickly pushed thoughts of his old mentor aside.

"I understand. I know how dangerous attention can be….especially for someone like Cloud." He hazarded.

Sephiroth's gaze was locked on his face, but it was not hard, just searching. "Someone like Cloud?"

Zack understood, Sephiroth was testing his knowledge of Cloud, and he wondered what Sephiroth knew of the boy. There was a temptation to ask, to try and delve deeper into Cloud's secrets, but he withheld. It would have been too close to breaking the boy's trust.

"He's special, but I think you already know that." Sephiroth reminded silent, waiting, but Zack offered nothing more.

Finally, "Yes, he is. Will you ask him to stay behind?"

"Yes, I can do that…Sephiroth." Zack cracked a smile. It wasn't returned, but that didn't bother him.

The sound of approaching boots drew their attention. "Looks like they're done with Physical Training."

Sephiroth nodded, turning away with a swirl of black leather. Zack watched as he slipped through the door leading to the observation rooms. It looked like they would have an audience today.

…

Sephiroth watched Zachary toss an arm over Cloud's shoulders, pulling Cloud back as the other cadets filed out the door. Sephiroth was surprised by the open familiarity in the gesture. He searched the other cadet's faces, seeking some sign of jealousy at the attention, but they ignored it as they had ignored Cloud throughout the lesson. The only sign of their awareness to Cloud's existence had been fear. Cloud's sparring partner had been _afraid_ of him.

While it was obvious Cloud was highly skilled, shockingly so, he had shown no aggression towards the boy. Cloud was in complete control of the fight, and Sephiroth had noted the deliberate caution he'd used. The seeds of this fear must be rooted in some past conflict, but the idea of Cloud attacking another cadet was implausible to Sephiroth. A voice in his head whispered that he barely knew the young man, but it was ruthlessly silenced.

Sephiroth had already assumed Cloud had some training, after their last meeting. He could read it in tempered steel of blue eyes, the wary stance, and hyper-alert senses. This knowledge only added to the list of discoveries about Cloud that had pleased Sephiroth. Seeing Cloud with a sword in his hands had only sharpened this pleasure.

The observation room's door swung shut behind him as he strode from the room, intent upon the coming meeting –one of his making.

Sephiroth had waited for Cloud to come back; he'd waited two long weeks, but Cloud had never come. Sephiroth's jaw clenched, remembering the agonizing slowness of those days. Waiting. Alone. He felt abandoned, and he hated himself for the weakness. Genesis and Angeal had left him, not even finding him worthy to confided their pain in. Vincent had sent no word, disappearing into Midgar without a trace, and now Cloud too had finished with him. Well,_ he_ was not finished with Cloud.

"…Kunsel said he'd be back sometime Friday, so he won't miss Saturday's…" Zack's words dropped as he sensed Sephiroth's presence. "Hey, Spiky…" but Cloud was already turning, icy blue eyes searching out the threat at his back.

They widened fractionally as they landed on Sephiroth, before closing back into unreadable pools. Sephiroth felt his face harden at the lack of reaction, and he despised his own vulnerability. Cloud obviously did not care to see him again, but Sephiroth could not help his own craving for the other's presence. It was humiliating to be so helpless; the power of his own need disturbed him.

"You can wait outside Zachary." Cloud's eyes snapped to the SOLDIER, a crease forming between his eyes as he realized this meeting had been arranged.

Zachary shot Sephiroth a sour look, but he could not brother to care. It was taking every shred of his control not to do something foolish. He crossed his arms, tucking them against his body, afraid of what they might do.

Sephiroth wasn't sure if he wanted to hit Cloud or kiss him, either one if it would wipe the indifference off the beautiful face. And Cloud was beautiful. Sephiroth had noticed the attractive features of the young man kneeling upon his windowsill immediately, but when he had heard Cloud's voice, the voice that haunted his thoughts, the young man became so much more then aesthetically pleasing.

Zack left them with a few mumbled words to Cloud and another dark look for Sephiroth. Then they were alone, as they were meant to be. Cloud stood just out of his reach, but Sephiroth knew he couldn't close the distance, might never be allowed to again.

He yearned to trace the beautiful bones of Cloud's face, and run is thumb along the lines of the tantalizing mouth. His hands fisted in his leather coat, tightening beneath his crossed arms as if that would free him from the vital itch to touch and hold.

"You wish to speak with me sir?"

Sephiroth forced back a cringe at the formal address, feeling sickness coil in his belly. It seemed every scattered hope was going to be crushed in this moment. Why had he ever trusted? What a fool he had been. How often had he learned the lesson's of humanity? People took what they wanted, scrapping their desires from his very bones, until there was nothing left but the shell. This shell no one wanted, not even him, not Genesis, not Angeal or Vincent, not Cloud. Cloud who he had thought had understood. But Cloud had never understood, would never understand. It had all been the last dregs of a child's fantasy.

"No. I was mistaken, I see we have nothing to say to each other." Sephiroth's lip curled in scorn he didn't bother to repress, and a dark place in his heart delighted at the flinch it earned from the previously blank features.

He turned, and began striding from the room. He would _not_ look back.

"Sephiroth wait!" A hand caught at his sleeve, holding him back just as he had always been the one to hold Cloud back. To make him stay for just a few more moments. "I am sorry. I should have come, I wanted to, but I…"

Sephiroth did not know if he was breathing, it did not matter. His ears strained towards the other, the pathetic yearning refusing to be silenced_. 'I wanted to_.' But could he believe that now?

"Why didn't you?" Turning to meet blue irises_ finally_ swirling with _something_.

"I…I was a coward." Lashes lowered, sealing Sephiroth out, but he would not be kept out, not now.

"Tell me." His thumb tilted the face up, not daring a heavier touch.

A long silence, and then, "I cannot, the reason is tied into something I cannot tell, but I…don't want to be afraid, Sephiroth. I wanted to come." Sephiroth did not doubt the sincerity of the words, even if he knew he should. Knew he should not lap up every word dropped from _his_ mouth.

Long fingers slid down a jaw, daring to pull the length of one golden spike through them. Sephiroth measured the soft weight of it, fingers running to the tip before releasing it to fall back behind Cloud's ear. Sephiroth had wanted to touch this hair for what seemed eternity, but was not.

How often had his thoughts circled back to this young man over the last two weeks? More often than they should have. At first it had been a welcome distraction to think of blue-diamonds and hair that seemed to wave like wheat in the wind. He dwelt upon the little he knew of Cloud and the more he had wanted to know.

He'd read the slim cadet file so many times he'd memorized every word, just as he had replayed Cloud's soft voice in his head a thousand times. It was an easy escape from thoughts of Angeal and Genesis, but a dangerous indulgence.

As the days passed, and Cloud failed to return, the remembrances turned bitter. But even as he tried to push Cloud from his thoughts, he knew he would fail. Even the growing bitterness and fresh sting of betrayal were not enough to banish Cloud from his mind, and he hated himself for his powerlessness.

His hand dropped to his side, restraining himself even as he wanted to bury his nose in the golden plums and inhale Cloud's scent, devouring it. Cloud had not flinched away from the touch, though Sephiroth could not be sure Cloud was not just enduring it, but still, his fingers had not been slapped away in disgust.

Green eyes finally locked with blue again, attempting to search the soul hidden within. Sephiroth wanted to know it, as he wanted to know everything about Cloud. He wanted to see the eyes when they burned with the blue-fire of passion. He wanted to see them soft as a summer sky as they looked at him, and only him. He wanted to see them hard as cut ice, for the anger and hate would be as much a part of Cloud as the tenderness.

He wanted Cloud to look at him with those eyes and _see_ him. To see what no one else was permitted to see, if they even cared to look. He wanted Cloud to know him as he longed to know Cloud. It was a terrifying thought, one he wanted to shy away from, but could not.

He wanted to swallow Cloud whole, and be swallowed in return. Devoured until their bones ground against each other and their souls touched, and they found perfection together. The need battered itself against his very nature, crashing upon his reason like the wildest gale; turbulent waves drowning him in their need and reckless desires. He still clung to the rope of his reservation, his feet kicking out against the tempest, daring to hold it at bay, but the sea flowing into his mouth and choking him, was the sweetest-bier. He yearned to cease his desperate struggles, and let the waves of his need and secret yearning catch him and carry him in their violent, lawless surge until he drowned in the blue ocean of Cloud's eyes.

"Will you come, Cloud?"

"Hum," a nod of accent, "On Sunday, it will be easiest to come then."

Sephiroth frowned, "You shouldn't climb, it's dangerous."

Cloud raised an eyebrow, and Sephiroth stared, fascinated as the blue orbs danced with amusement. "I like danger. That little trek up the building barely got my pulse pumping."

"Oh?" Sephiroth asked for more.

"I enjoy a good fight best –with swords." A shadow darkened Cloud's eyes for a moment before he shook free. "Don't you agree?"

"I do. I saw you in practice, you are skilled, more so then I had thought. I would like to spar with you."

A glimmer of panic, quickly repressed, but Sephiroth had seen it and wondered. He did not think Cloud was afraid of him, sometimes it almost seemed so, but the moments were always swept away. Why would Cloud agree to see him –alone—if he were afraid? And why let Sephiroth touch him? It must be something else, something tied in with this bigger _something_. The key to the anomaly that was Cloud Strife.

"Maybe…one day." Cloud finally managed, and Sephiroth heard the reluctance in the words, but he did not press.

"I would like that. But I still wish to find another way for you to come. I could find you and…"

"No. I do not want to be seen with you, all the halls have cameras."

Sephiroth reluctantly admitted this caution was necessary. Cloud did not need the attention, and any connection to Sephiroth was a risk. "Very well."

"It is not like I am scaling the entire building," Cloud offered. "I broke into a conference room only a few floors down." A silver brow rose, Cloud shrugged. "The worst part was how much time it took to sneak through security."

Sephiroth's lip twitched as Cloud contemplated the wasted time, he looked horrified at the thought of it.

"I should go. This isn't a safe place to talk long," Cloud's eyes flickered to the closed door.

"We should be fine, Zachery is waiting and he won't let anyone disturb us, but we should go."

Green eyes searched the blank wall behind which the hidden observatory rested. He doubted anyone would try to use it, especially after the class was dismissed. The Turks were known to utilize the rooms when scouting potential recruits, and though the chance of anyone entering it now was slim, it was best to be prudent.

Cloud followed him out the door and they found Zachary deep into a session of squats. Sephiroth saw the corner of Cloud's mouth lift, but the smile was repressed before it could fully blossom.

"Hey Zack," the SOLDIER aborted his next squat, whirling around to greet them.

"Hey Spiky…Sephiroth." The last was said with lingering annoyance.

"Its fine Zack." Zachary's eyes flickered between them, but he seemed to find whatever he was looking for because a grin split his face.

"It better be!" The SOLDIER's hand ruffled Cloud's hair, and Sephiroth forced down the stab of hurt at the sight. It seemed Zachary was one of those 'certain people' Cloud accepted touch from, but Sephiroth was not? He shoved the thought aside; _Cloud_ _hadn't flinched from him today, maybe…_

"I've got to go now if I want to catch lunch." Cloud broke away from the hand in his hair, but offered Zack the hint of a smile. "I'll see you later."

"See ya, Spiky!"

Blue eyes turned to Sephiroth again, and the blood melted in his veins. The look seemed to fall into infinity and nestle there. Sephiroth wanted Cloud to read all the secrets buried in his skin, but was to afraid to drop the cool panes from his eyes and risk losing himself in the blue depths. Not yet…

Cloud passed the inaudible message, sealing the promise of another meeting, before turning to disappear around the corner.

…

"So," Zack's easy drawl pulled Sephiroth's eyes away from the empty hall. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Sephiroth gave him a look. "Guess not. But it better not be dangerous, he's already got enough going on with his mad skills, and nosy Turks."

"Turks?" Sephiroth demanded.

Zack wondered how far to trust the General. He had never expected Cloud to actually _know _Sephiroth. He had to stop the hissing anger threatening to scorch his throat. It wasn't that Cloud knew Sephiroth, it was that he had lied about it. Lied right to his face. It was hard to swallow, and even telling himself Cloud must have had his reasons, didn't erase the hurt. Zack trusted Cloud, but every day it became more apparent that the trust was not mutual, no matter what Kunsel said.

Zack knew he was being petty when he clamped his jaw shut, giving Sephiroth no further information, but he couldn't help it_. Let's see how Sephiroth feels at being left in the dark._

Sephiroth was watching him, and he felt a flush burn his cheeks at his own childishness. He dropped his eyes, but Sephiroth did not order him to speak, for which he was thankful, but it also left the weight of guilt.

"Did you see Cloud in practice?" Zack asked the pointless question, wanting to shake off the knowing gaze.

"Yes, he is an exceptional swordsman."

"That he is. There's no way he won't make SOLDIER…things will be…different then." Zack did not know why he was voicing his secret desire to Sephiroth, only that the man's eyes –watching him— were unnerving, but also thrilling.

"We shall see, but it goes deeper then SOLDIER, Zachary."

Zack felt his face fall, "I know, but I just…he promised he'd tell me everything one day, but it's so hard to wait...to trust."

"He said he would tell you?" Zack watched the green eyes turn inward.

"Yeah, but I think I might have to wait a _very_ long time."

"Hum," the eyes were still distant.

Zack shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the almost intimate conversation. "I'd better go too."

"Zachary," he halted his retreat. "I…you told me you can be discreet?"

"Yes."

A watching silence, and then, "Do you know of any quality books on...the proper technique of kissing?"

Zack felt his mouth flop open, silver lashes rose, and he quickly snapped it shut. He rubbed the back of his neck, "I could find a few if you want, though…it would be easier to just practice."

Sephiroth's mouth turned down, "I would prefer to be at least knowledgeable before…attempting."

Zack couldn't believe he was having this conversation with_ Sephiroth_, and he really couldn't believe Sephiroth didn't know how to kiss. It was surreal, but Sephiroth had trusted _him_. He wasn't going to throw that back in the man's face no matter how unbelievable the situation.

"Well, you could always practice on someone who…doesn't really count, you know?"

Eyes hardened to polished jade, "I do not wish to share any part of myself with a stranger."

"What about a friend?" Zack could have slapped himself.

He waited for the inevitable sadness to fold the proud face, remembering two distant friends –probably the only two the man had—but the change never came. Eyes blanked, the stunning perfection of Sephiroth's face icing over. The lack of emotion was disturbing.

"That is not possible," a clipped reply. Sealing the topic with hot wax.

"Right, um…I'll just scrounge up some books then…maybe magazines…" Zack trailed off.

"I appreciate your help Zachary." Sephiroth offered a stiff nod, but Zack knew the man meant it, just as he knew he'd be skinned alive if he every opened his mouth. This conversation had never happened.

Zack smirked to himself as he walked away.


	12. Chapter 12

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 12

Kunsel slung an arm over Cloud's shoulders as they waited for Zack to fit the keycard into his door. They were all pleasantly buzzing, even the two SOLDIERS, and had not been ready to send Cloud back to his desolate bunker. This was the last Saturday they would spend with the cadet, Cloud would leave for the week long SOLIDER exams in two days.

Zack had had the brilliant idea of getting Cloud a preemptive piercing. It was a SOLDIER tradition, and tonight Zack had been too impatient to wait the last week. Kunsel had no idea the occasion would represent so much for Cloud. The boy had been almost emotional, for Cloud, when Zack had suggested it, and had been in soaring spirits since. Kunsel didn't think he'd ever seen Cloud smile and _laugh_ so much.

Zack was forced to share his couch with Kunsel, but he gave up the lower half with only a few mumbled protests. Cloud had only been in Zack's apartment a handful of times. As a cadet, a level of separation had to be maintained, but that time was nearly over.

Kunsel turned to give Zack a glare when socked feet found their way into his lap. It seemed _sitting_ on his couch was too much to ask of Zack. Zack winked at him, and he hated the silly fluttering of his pulse, but somehow the feet were not shoved away.

The airy feeling dissolved when Kunsel saw a determined look slip into Zack's clear eyes as they measured Cloud. Kunsel's knew that look, and knew it could not bode well for Cloud. He wished Zack would leave it for a less perfect night, but admitted it was long overdue. Zack was digging his mental heels in.

"So, Cloud," Zack began. "How do you know Sephiroth?" _Ah, of course._ Kunsel had heard an earful after that encounter, but didn't fault Zack for his resentment. Cloud had lied to them, and it seemed this was one too many times for Zack, and perhaps himself as well.

He watched the bared bliss fall from Cloud's face as the boy shut himself behind his steel walls. A shrug.

The skin around Zack's eyes tightened, and his voice shook with forced control. "I seem to remember having this conversation before, and you said you'd only seen the General training."

Eyes slipped away. "I didn't exactly say that was the only time I'd seen him."

Zack's grip on the armrest turned bone-white. "You play games with us? Throwing technicalities in our face?"

"Zack…"

"No more!" The restraint shattered and Zack's voice vibrated with long surprised rage. "Don't tell me you're trying to protect me. You're _hurting_ me! I cannot take these lies anymore Cloud."

"I…" A shaky reply. Cloud's eyes were huge, staring at Zack's face contorted in pain. "Zack, I never wanted to hurt you. I am sorry."

"Then tell me! I want to trust you Cloud. I don't want this…this anger, but this is the limit Cloud. The limit."

Cloud's face had drained to a sickly grey, and he tucked in to his chest as if he could hide from the bleeding-ice in Zack's eyes. "I have spoken to Sephiroth a few times. I knew things about his parents, things Hojo had done to him, things no one else knew. I had to tell him, so I did."

Silence. The bunched muscles of Zack's jaw did not relax.

Anxious eyes darted up, and quickly shrunk down again. "Hojo had done experiments on Sephiroth, like Hollander did on Genesis and Angeal. I should have told you…about Angeal, but I…I am sorry." A desperate hand jerked. And then in a rush, "Angeal and Genesis were injected with Jenova cells before they were born. Jenova is a monster, she destroyed the Cetra. That's why Angeal and Genesis have mutated, or Angeal will, I don't know if he has his wing yet. Angeal and Genesis are dying, their bodies rejecting the Jenova cells. I told Sephiroth they might be saved if he gave them his cells. He's different, he won't degrade. I don't know if it will work but I had to do something…." Cloud's voice trailed off into the abyss of voiceless betrayal.

"I had a right to know," came in a sunburst of fury and pain.

"I am sorry!" Orbs, splitting with internal chaos, rose, begging to be absolved. "I didn't want you to be hurt…"

"Cloud, I realize you had good intentions," the anger had drained away, leaving only the raw sting of Cloud's deception and admittance. "But by not telling me, you took away my _choice_. I might have rushed off to find Angeal and been hurt, but that was _my_ choice to make. You were trying to control me."

"No! I never wanted…" Cloud's face was shocked horror.

"But you did, Cloud. All this time, and you never told me about Angeal, even though you knew how much pain I was in. You never told me. It was my right to know. _My right_, and you robbed me of it. I don't know if I can…"

The silence was suffocating. Zack had long since risen to a seated position. Kunsel cautiously brushed the coiled tendons of Zack's shoulder, and was startled when Zack snatched his hand, trapping it in his own. Iron fingers pressed into his, but he did not mind. He squeezed the flesh back_. I am here Zack, I know_.

A ragged choke scorched the silence. Cloud crushed a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle the tortured sounds. Tearless sobs racked his body. His lungs struggling for breath. A croaked, "I am sorry, so sorry."

Kunsel's free hand scooped up Cloud's and tugged. Cloud resisted for a moment, before answering the call and tentatively rising. It was Zack, though, who snatched the trembling boy up, and stuffed the light frame between the two SOLDIER's.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Spiky? Why do you do it too us?" Zack sighed out, but his forehead was pressed into the golden mane.

"I don't know how to stop. How do I make this better?"

"You let people in."

"What if I don't know how?"

Kunsel answered for both of them, "Practice."

.

Sephiroth touched his ashen face, staring into his own empty eyes. His lips compressed, and shaky fingers fumbled with the bathroom faucet. He scooped the icy water over his face. Wet strands of hair plastered the sides of his face, forming crisscrossed webs he didn't bother wiping away. He needed a drink.

He moved into his kitchen, filling a glass with brandy before tossing the burning liquor down his cracked throat. _Damn you Hojo._ Sephiroth forced the lingering pain from yesterday's 'tests' away. Stuffing it into a dark corner already crowded with nightmares.

He had gotten used to the drill over the years. Hojo would schedule a playtime, and Sephiroth would give his body over to the man for a few hours, knowing how much pain and humiliation he would endure. But it was worse now; now that he knew exactly how much Hojo had taken from him.

He poured himself another drink, wishing he had another twenty bottles so he could drown himself in the numbness of liquor infused blood. His eyes fell on the little tattoo staining his hand. His grip on the glass tightened as he stared at the number one scratched into his skin. He imagined cutting a number into Hojo's skin with the Masamune, but the sweet picture could not erase what he was, or what had been done to him.

The glass shattered in his hand, tinny blades cutting into his palm. Dark blood ran through his fingers, bright spots of crimson adorning the tiled floor. It slid into the cuff of his shirt, spreading blotted pictures over the pure whiteness. He didn't feel the bite of the splintered teeth. He watched the blood's journey with absent fascination, his mind still locked deep in the blinding whiteness of labs.

"Sephiroth?" He struggled to focus on the voice, "Sephiroth!"

A tender hand cradled his bleeding limb, and he stared down into worried blue orbs. "Cloud?"

Cloud didn't answer; he mutely pulled Sephiroth to the kitchen sink and began picking the glass out with nimble finger. "The mako will close the wound in a few minutes." Warm water flowed over the damage, the smell of iron running into the drain.

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter." Sephiroth gave the automatic reply, the one he always used when Angeal or Genesis stumbled upon him like this. So much easier to brush off the questions with a "Nothing" or "I am fine." He didn't think they really wanted to know, and how could he possibly explain?

Cloud frowned, his lips parting, but Sephiroth's hushed admittance stopped him, "Hojo."

Cloud stilled in his task, the water slipping over their mingled hands. "What did he do?" It was only a whisper, but it trembled with rage.

"The usual, it will pass." Sephiroth watched the delicate throat jerk, swallowing down the seething anger he knew was there, a mirror of his own.

He had not been sure before, but now he knew without doubt that Hojo had hurt Cloud. How, when, why, ceased to matter, it was Hojo, and Sephiroth swore again that he'd take his revenge with that monster's suffering. His vengeance would feed upon the blood torn from torture. Hojo would know the full extent of his success –he had created the perfect killer.

Sephiroth looked into eyes darkened with the shadows of the past, and knew every dark hope he had harbored was fulfilled. Cloud did understand, he understood all too well. Sephiroth could not summon the disgust he should feel at the wretched pleasure he received from this fact. He vowed he'd never hurt Cloud. He never wanted to see Cloud hurt again, but still, his heart pounded a little faster knowing they shared this demon. He delighted in the knowledge that Cloud was the only one who would ever know this darkness with him, just as he was the only one who would ever be able to share the darkness of Cloud's anguish.

The pain and grief he sensed in Cloud called to him. It had been this sorrow that had drawn him to Cloud; it was because Cloud was flawed that he wanted him. They would be beautiful together. He wasn't interested in perfection as others saw it, which was why he had sought Vincent out. The brokenness had its own perfection; like shards of glass, each piece could contain a thousand shades of light and beauty, stunning even in their ruin.

"You came."

"I said I would. Sorry about breaking in like that. I did knock, but I don't think you heard."

"I appears I need new windows if you are able to pick the locks that easily." Cloud's eyes flew up at the teasing tone, and the corner of his mouth curled.

"Looks like it."

Sephiroth studied the youth, enjoying the simple banter. The glint of clear crystal drew his gaze to a newly laden lob. "This is new." His forefinger graced the stud as his thumb curled about the shell of Cloud's ear, with a mind of its own.

"Um…" Cloud did not pull away from the touch, standing perfectly still, eyes unreadable. "Zack and Kunsel took me to get it done yesterday. Kind of a premature celebration for SOLIDER."

"Zachary couldn't wait, hum." Sephiroth dropped his touch reluctantly, but he would wait to explore Cloud's reaction to him, just a bit longer. "You leave tomorrow for the exams."

"Bright and early. They haven't told us where we are going, but I guess that's the point."

"Indeed. I am confident you will pass."

"I hope so," eyes darted away.

Sephiroth hesitated, and then, "You will receive mako injections as a SOLDIER, which might cause you to have contact with Hojo."

"I know."

"Will he attempt to experiment on you….again?"

"What? How did you…" Cloud's gaze was guarded.

"An assumption based on your reactions. I am right then?"

"I…yes, but it's complicated."

"Will Hojo be interested in you again? SOLIDER is not worth that, Cloud." Cloud's lips turned down, creases knit his bow.

"I don't know if Hojo will do anything. It's not as simple as…he won't recognize me, but I have an abnormally large tolerance for mako which might catch his attention."

"He won't recognize you? How can that be?" He pressed. He'd promised not to demand answers, but not at this price. He would not risk Hojo sinking his fags into Cloud.

"I..its…" Cloud's eyes skirted away. "I shouldn't…"

"Cloud," Sephiroth demanded. "Trust me."

The blue irises were washed with a thousand thoughts and fears when they met his, and Sephiroth gasped. He'd never seen them so expressive, and he tired to pick out the emotions behind the mad rush.

"I…I am not exactly from here. Hojo will not recognize me because he's never actually met me, but I remember him. I can never forget what he did to me, but it wasn't_ this_ Hojo. I know things about you and Genesis and Angeal because I've lived through this before. I know the ending, but I am going to change it. I am going to fix it. I…don't ask me anymore, _please_."

"You know the ending. What does that mean? Where are you from Cloud? Tell me, I want to understand."

"You can't. Just don't ask…its..." Cloud shook his head, not able to frame his thoughts. He squeezed his turbulent eyes shut. "This is a mistake…I cannot tell you."

"Why? What is it you fear so much?" Sephiroth grasped Cloud's shoulders, barely stopping himself from shaking the words out of Cloud. He couldn't understand what Cloud was telling him. He hated these hints, half-truths, he _needed_ to know.

"Failure. I am afraid I am going to fail –again, and I cannot bear the thought. I cannot live through it again. It's too much. I will go mad!" Cloud frantically tried to tear himself from the hold, but Sephiroth could not release him. Cloud would run away, and he couldn't let Cloud go.

"You are telling me you've lived this, this moment, before? You are reliving your life? Your spirit is from the…future?"

Cloud finally ceased his struggles to escape. His whole body seemed to slump, as if the will had been sucked out of him. "In a way, yes. Things are different now. I never knew you before…" Cloud bit off the thought, leaving the _'before what?'_ hanging unanswered in the heavy air. "When I came here, everything would have happened exactly as I remember, but I've changed a few things, not much yet, but I will. I am going to stop…things from happening, terrible things." The last was a breathy oath.

"Why couldn't you tell me? I want to help you."

Cloud shook his head fiercely, pulling himself from Sephiroth's hands, and Sephiroth let him go. "No. It is enough that you know the truth about Jenova, the rest I have to do alone."

"Why? Why?" Cloud shrugged. "_Why?"_

"Because."

Sephiroth snarled in frustration before recovering control. Cloud was watching him warily. He was angry at Cloud's stubborn refusal to let him in, but he recognized the hard set of Cloud's jaw. Foolishness or not, the young man was not going to give another inch.

A long exhale, and then, "Very well, but I wish you'd change your mind. If the future is so unbearable then would it not be wiser to trust others, Cloud? It is our future too."

Spiked lashes sealed the troubled eyes, and when they swept open again the thoughts were shuttered. "I have to think… I am not sure. I do not want to make a mistake."

"Very well," Sephiroth swept his fingers over a satin cheek, "I am grateful for your confidence, Cloud. I will not betray it."

Cloud tucked his head, and the touch was broken. "I know."

"It is a heavy burden, the weight of a world's future, but you do not have to carry it alone." A flash of yearning, swiftly blinked away, a silent nod.

"You must be hungry after all that wasted time sneaking through security and up buildings." Sephiroth cut through the breathing silence.

"A bit."

They ended up ordering takeout again. Sephiroth's bare cupboards offering little choice, but neither minded. Sephiroth felt Cloud slowly relax as the conversation turned to lighter things. Zack. SOLDIER. Vincent.

Sephiroth only eluded to Cloud's revelation once during their meal. Cloud had asked him if he'd heard from Vincent, and at Sephiroth's negative response, had said he should not worry. Disappearing for months at a time was very 'Vincety.'

Sephiroth had puzzled over Cloud's knowledge of Vincent for weeks. Vincent had been adamant that no one but Hojo should know of his existence, but Cloud had seemed intimately acquainted with the man, even though his age eliminated the possibility of them ever meeting before. Sephiroth asked about this, and after a heavy pause Cloud had told him he'd know Vincent in his 'past life.' Had in fact been the one to awaken Vincent from his slumber.

Sephiroth had shoved the clamoring questions down, and accepted the pieces Cloud had given him. The effect had been immediate. Cloud had tensed visibly when talk had returned to his shrouded past. But when Sephiroth had steered the conversation back onto safe ground, the ridged line of Cloud's shoulders had eased, the sinews of bunched muscles breathing out their anxiety.

Sephiroth was pleased when Cloud's eyes did not dart towards the glass planes as they finished eating. He was not ready to let Cloud go, there was still something he wanted to attempt -again.

Before the silence of scrapping dishes and running tap water could become oppressive, Sephiroth banished it. "Would you like to…watch a movie?"

"A movie?" Sephiroth loved the laughing shimmer in Cloud's eyes.

He shrugged, feeling exposed but not uncomfortable. "Genesis enjoys them, so Angeal and I used to watch them with him, if only to torment him afterwards."

He allowed Cloud to see the bittersweet pleasure of the memory, permitting the slight smile to tug up his lips. Discovering a strange thrill at the revelation, in knowing that Cloud could see the gesture. He glanced at Cloud out the corner of his eye. Cloud's hand had stilled, the dish towel and plate frozen in mid pat. He was watching Sephiroth.

"What did you torment him about?"

"Genesis has a flare for dramatics, so naturally his cinema choices reflect that. Some of the stories were truly horrific, but we would have teased him no matter his choice. He has a viciously sharp tongue."

"Delightful," came the sarcastic reply, but Sephiroth knew Cloud was amused at the picture of the snappish red head passionately defending his viewing pleasure.

Cloud let Sephiroth pick out the movie, saying he rarely watched them so wouldn't know. Sephiroth had to chose from a few of Genesis's favorites his friend had never taken home, but then, he wondered if Genesis could have know just how long he would be gone, or if he'd ever return at all.

Sephiroth had no real intention of watching the movie, but took up a corner of the couch, watching as Cloud occupied the other. He waited, keeping the apprehension at bay. He had read every book and article Zachary had provided him with, he would be _fine_.

Zachary had sauntered into his office, a sizable stack of informative texts in his arms. He had let Sephiroth know in no uncertain terms what other SOLDIERS were going to say about him after asking around for so many 'sex' book. Sephiroth had coolly reminded Zachary that he had not asked him to recruit other SOLDIER's help, and hoped for Zachary's sake, he had not mentioned the purpose of his requests.

"Course I didn't, I am not an idiot, though now my buddies probably think I am either a sex addict or dysfunctional." Zachary had had a pouty look on his face, but Sephiroth had remain unmoved. "Well, you own me now, Sephiroth!" The eyes had taken on a gleeful glimmer, that made Sephiroth feel uneasy, though he'd never admit it to the Second.

Sephiroth had quickly worked his way through the provided texts, discovering they contained far more than an instruction in the art of kissing. Some ideas were discarded immediately, his eyes skipping over the unappealing suggestions, but others had left him uncomfortably aroused.

That night had been restless as he attempted to clear his head of the vibrant images he'd conjured during his research. He had ended up under a cold shower trying to assuage his aching need. Eventually he had given in, and taken his release from his hand, but it left him feeling empty as it always did. He was a man, and had needs, even if he had only ever taken care of them himself. It was this fact that left the hallow place in his soul; he'd never feel true fulfillment from his own touch. It was meaningless release, alleviating the persistent desire and leaving the pit of loneliness unfilled.

Sephiroth watched Cloud as the other's mouth folded up in amusement. He had selected one of Genesis's more ghastly choices. Sephiroth was positive Genesis only claimed to like some of these stories because they never failed to end in the fiery debates the man enjoyed so much.

He did not know how Cloud would react to another kiss, but Sephiroth had to at least attempt it or he would go mad. He closed the distance between their bodies with deliberate leisure, gauging Cloud's response. The back straightened from the easy slouch, signaling Cloud's awareness, but the head never looked away from the screen.

Sephiroth waited, close enough to smell the fruity tang of the sunlight locks. Cloud didn't speak, or turn to him. He wasn't sure if this was a positive sign, but he wasn't going to discover it without testing.

His fingers trailed across the slender shoulders, and felt the groan of bones shuttering under his touch. His hand drifted down Cloud's back, the heat of skin soaking through the soft cotton shirt. Slowly lowering his head to the exposed nap, his lips pressed into the soft down on Cloud's neck, tasting the salt of skin.

He drew back, savoring the delicate quiver running through Cloud's frame. His hand shifted into the crease of Cloud's hip, pulling the smaller body closer. His fingers rose to cup a porcelain jaw.

"Sephiroth, I…" He broke the words with a kiss.

Cloud tasted of perfection.

.

Sephiroth's lips were carful yet demanding. Cloud wondered absently if Sephiroth had been practicing, but he couldn't sense experience, only focus. He smirked into the kiss, the image of Sephiroth researching the proper techniques of love making, surfaced in his mind. It would be just like Sephiroth. The man could not bear ignorance, and had to be the best, whether he admitted it or no.

Cloud knew he should pull away, stop this before it burned out of his control. His mind was shrieking at him; it was Sephiroth! But oh the temptation. To silence the screaming, numb the thoughts, to fall into that savored emptiness where memories could not touch him. Where the past was shaken off, yielding to the nothingness. He yearned to go to that place; the place Vincent and he had traversed when the weight of the past became lead in their veins. The sanctuary Zack and he had made in the bowels of hell. Cloud thirsted for the vacant thoughts where all but touch, smell, taste, was stripped away, and only the Silence remained.

His tongue lapped at the shapely curve of Sephiroth's lower lip, asking for entrance that was granted. He curled his tongue around the velvety wetness of Sephiroth's, schooling the other in the secret embrace of mouths. Sephiroth did not hesitate to return the favor. Cloud felt the man's growl vibrate through his chest, and he moaned wantonly, echoing the mounting need.

Sephiroth crushed them closer, trying to angle Cloud into his lap. Cloud relished the lush heat of Sephiroth's lean flesh against his, but he slung one leg over the lap. Straddling the waist to retain his own measure of control.

Hand's slipped under shirts, stroking shifting muscles. Teeth caught upon lips, and scrapped the column of pearly throats. Long fingers wound in soft gold, smaller ones enmeshed themselves in silver strands as fine as a spider's-web. The kiss broke, breaths mingled, as groans were torn from throats. Fire coiled in their bellies, waking primal lust, slaughtering reason and control.

Sephiroth's mouth traced the line of Cloud's collarbone, as slim finger's buried themselves in a waistband, picking at a taunting button. The empty bliss of Cloud's mind was shattered when he felt the desperate tug on his jeans. Sephiroth's humid breath heavy in his ears, chasing away the cherished silence.

"Stop." Cloud wrenched himself from the other's embrace, scrambling to his feet. The icy absence of heated bodies crashed down on him, shaking the last vestiges of blinding desire away.

"What's wrong?" The voice was husky with desire.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"Why not?"

"It would have been wrong, I would be using you…like the others."

Cloud looked away. He was only human, and the sight of Sephiroth, half-naked, diaphragm still heaving with heady arousal, was enough to weaken his resolve. But he couldn't do this, it wouldn't be right.

It was different with Vincent, there was no expectations, only understanding. If they used each other for their release and relief from tormenting memories, then it was an equal taking. Cloud looked into dilated green eyes. The realization that Sephiroth actually _wanted_ him, struck him like a hammer, mauling the temptation to drown himself in the other's body.

"What do you mean?" Suspicion crept into the voice. Cloud's eyes were drawn back again, but the look of barely hedged betrayal and mounting pain, struck him like a blow.

"I…I would be using you to gain relief; to forget the past, for the numbness of the moment. That's not fair to you."

Sephiroth rose fluidly from the couch, but Cloud backed away when he reached for him. Sephiroth let his hand drop limply to his side. "And if I did not see it that way? If I wanted you anyway?"

Cloud's mouth worked, but no words came.

"But I wouldn't be able to settle for only that small piece of you Cloud. I demand everything."

Cloud felt the scales peeled from his eyes and he _saw_ Sephiroth. The green eyes scorched him with the intensity of their gaze, and he knew he could drown in them, just as he had lost himself in the other Sephiroth's eyes. The intensity was too much. The power of the gaze overwhelmed him, shaking his bones with its_ need_.

"No, _no_!" Cloud lurched back as Sephiroth's fingers brushed his skin. The press of skin was like the kiss of flame, burning him with Sephiroth's intent. "You don't understand. You don't want _me_! I'm sick, broken." His own hands clawed into his bare chest.

Sephiroth caught the scrapping hands, cradling the bloodied fingertips where the nails had dug too deeply. "And I am not?"

Cloud tried to squirm away, his body writhing, but Sephiroth's arms caught him to his chest, locking about him like a tender cage. "You say you are sick Cloud, but I have a monster's cells in my veins. I was warped from birth. I can feel her crawling under my skin, her hear voice in my head. I know that voice for what it is now, but it does not change the fact that she is in me –Jenova."

Cloud had stilled in the embrace, listening to the dark confession. How well he knew her voice; how often had he heard it screaming in his own head? He shivered. "But I have nothing to give you. I am nothing."

"You may have hurts in your past that broke you, but you are far from nothing, and I want every piece of you—"

"You don't even know me!" Cloud denied the caressing voice, battering away anyone who dared look too deeply.

_This_ Sephiroth didn't know Cloud. It had taken all the vestiges of Cloud's strength to try and force the revelation of what he was, to bare a small part of his corruption to Sephiroth's eyes, but Sephiroth refused to look. Why didn't he see what Cloud did? Sephiroth was not supposed to say things like this to him. Sephiroth was supposed to be the one doing the twisting; tearing away at the little Cloud had left after Hojo and Zack's death.

Sephiroth didn't fill the silence for a long moment, and Cloud hoped he had beaten the other man away. But then, "But I want to know you, Cloud. I want to know everything."

Sephiroth lifted Cloud's chin to sear the words into his flesh. Cloud felt lost. The intensity of Sephiroth's eyes frightened him. Sephiroth was looking at him as if he wanted to consume him. Wanted to see all of him, but Cloud didn't want to be seen. He wanted to crawl back behind the barrier he'd built over long years, the wall of fortified steel.

He pulled his face away, tugging on the arms, "I should go, let me go."

"Stay," it wasn't a demand, and the arms loosened, but Cloud didn't step away. The word had been lost. Uttered in a voice no longer belonging to Sephiroth; it was defeated and washed with sorrow.

"I can't."

"Don't leave me."

Cloud shook his head, willing himself to slip from the arms.

"Please, Cloud. Stay, just a little longer. I won't ask anything of you, just _stay_."

Hesitation, and then, "Alright." Cloud was immediately engulfed in the arms again. A nose buried in his hair, a mouth opening for a desperate breath as if the lungs had been suffocating.

Cloud looked up into the pools of the other's essence. The fire of Sephiroth's soul burned too brightly. Cloud feared he'd lose himself in it, and be utterly devoured in the inferno. Its blaze would either burn him to ash, or cleanse away all the filth of their pasts'. He did not know if his spirit could endure what Sephiroth needed to give him, and be given in return.

But he stayed.

Sephiroth took his hand and led him into the bedroom, but Cloud was not afraid now. Sephiroth understood his limits. He has seen the cracking of Cloud's mind, tittering on the last edge of his endurance.

Cloud allowed Sephiroth to wash the blood from his fingers as he had washed the stain of scarlet from Sephiroth's. Then they laid back on the bed.

Sephiroth folded Cloud against him. Cloud listened to the beating of Sephiroth's heart, the time for words was past. Sephiroth's arms were tight about him, a soft mouth nestled in his neck. Closer. Closer Sephiroth clung to him, as if he wanted to melt their flesh together. Silence. The beating of two hearts. Cloud wrapped his arms about the waiting neck, fingers slipping through silver silk. Long legs weaving between his own. Closer. A head tilted, spilling liquid moonlight over Cloud's face, entangling in sun-kissed spikes. The shroud of hair encased them like beams of starlight.

Their two bodies lay intertwined on the bed for long minutes, hours. Resting in the feel of the other's heat, the gentle thumping of hearts, the caress of breath in hair, stirring wayward strains to brush against velvet flesh.

It was Sephiroth who fell into dreams first, and Cloud watched the serene face for long moments before disentangling himself. He knelt in the messy sheets for another moment that span into timelessness, before lowering his lips to brush a feathery kiss across Sephiroth's.

"I'll see you in a week, I promise." Cloud gathered up his discarded shirt, and quietly let himself out the window.

He did not know he would never been able to keep that promise. It would be marred by the hands of another, and twisted into long tormented months.


	13. Chapter 13

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 13

The coal-black mane tossed lazily in the breeze, choppy bangs falling into Zack's eyes. Angeal watched his puppy rumble yellow spikes. He identified the other SOLDIER standing with the two as Kunsel. He had seen Kunsel with Zack more often than ever these last few months. Angeal caught the flash of Zack's grin even at this distance. It was enough to smooth a smile over his own somber features.

"Puppy-watching again?" Angeal turned at Genesis's contemptuous drawl.

The leather clad figure picked his way through the assortment of clunking generators and curling steam Angeal shared the low roof-top with. The sleek black wing folded back, but the touch of the encroaching death could no longer be so neatly hidden. Genesis's once vibrant hair was now streaked with lank gray. Wrinkles had worked into the corners of eyes and mouth.

Genesis raised a Dumbapple to lips still as smooth as silk. _"Wings of light and dark spread afar. She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting." _

Sharp teeth broke the lavender skin before he offered Angeal a bite. Angeal accepted the fruit, keeping his eyes fixed with blue. They lacked the bright flame of the Genesis he had fallen in love with long years ago, but Angeal would never leave the shell of his lover. The old blaze would return, though the occasions were rarer as the months wore by, and then the listless blue would be washed away with the sparkle of life.

Angeal's mouth filled with the sweetness of the white flesh. His tongue embraced the moist, sugary lump. His teeth splitting it as juices squirted into his mouth.

"Yes," he answered after the long pause, and turned back to the unfolding scene below.

Genesis's eyes snapped over the mingling cadets, and bored looking instructors. He snorted his distain. "Exams, how thrilling."

The slender golden-haired cadet jumped into the back of a transport, giving Zack and Kunsel a small wave. "He's new. Done your research yet?"

"I am _not_ stalking Zack."

"Really? Then you never hacked into Shinra files to see who his new friend is?" Genesis mocked.

Angeal pressed his lips tight. "His name is Cloud Strife."

"Kunsel would be proud, though I believe one stalker is enough for even your puppy."

"Kunsel is Zack's friend, and I am not stalking him." Angeal crossed his arms.

"And you call this?"

"Curiosity."

"Have you watched him sleeping yet? Not that he would mind. I always knew he'd spread his legs for you; have you finally taken him up on it?" Genesis's voice dripped acid.

Angeal spun to face him again. "That is enough, Genesis."

"Oh really? You thought I wouldn't notice? He's attractive, is he not? Sun-kissed skin, hard lean muscles, tight…"

"Stop!" The word lashed out like a whip, but Genesis only curled an ugly snarl over his lips.

"You think about him don't you? When you're fucking me? You image his smooth skin, when you're buried in my decaying flesh." He spat the words in Angeal's face.

"Don't talk about yourself like that."

Angeal swallowed down the burn of new scars received from the cutting words. He knew Genesis didn't mean it. The azure eyes were glassy, betraying the corruption of the mind within. He would wait, as he always did, until this new madness had passed and he could pull his lover into his arms and let him kiss away the hurt.

"Why not? You think I am blind?" The skin was cracked over fingers that ran through dull gray strains. Nails that had once been shapely were now brittle and broken. "You want him, admit it!" Bitterness wrung Genesis's mouth.

"Stop it Gen, you know you've always been the only one."

"Liar! How can you want _this_?" Genesis twisted the words back into himself, the injured mind feeding upon its own self-loathing.

"This doesn't matter," Angeal's finger's traced the creased cheek. "Do you think I didn't want to grow old with you before all this? It wasn't supposed to be this way, but it doesn't change my heart."

"You'll be free of me soon." Genesis sneered.

Pain seared Angeal's throat, but he shoved it back down. This was not Genesis; not the one he had carved into his heart. His Genesis would not throw words like knifes into him.

His fingers curled about Genesis's beautiful hand, nothing would ever tarnish Genesis's beauty in his eyes. He brushed his lips over the protruding blue veins. "You're the only thing that's real to me Gen. I never want to be free of you."

A silver tear caressed the aged cheek, "Angeal."

Their lips met in a desperate confirmation of life. Their tongues tangled. Bodies merged, spreading the warmth of two beating hearts together, screaming their existence in the face of approaching death. Angeal knew he would want Genesis even when their bodies were shriveled with age. When their eyes closed in death, he would still be reaching for Genesis, and trying to hold the cageless fire of his lover's being.

Angeal breathed in Genesis's exhale, tasting the lingering sweetness of Dumbapple. "Not here." Wings broke skin, and they found the sky on an updraft of polluted air.

They flew until the black earth was swallowed up by brittle grass, bleached brown from an early frost. They shook off the clinging fingers of smog, the dead skies of Midgar rolling back like a black thundercloud. The rising sun sent spears of light into the muted earth still wearing the colors of fall.

Genesis dove, hair whipping his face, and Angeal followed. Leaves crunched under their booted feet, and Genesis spread his leather coat over the chilled ground before reaching for his lover. _"There is no hate, only joy, for you are beloved by the goddess. She guides us to bliss her gift everlasting."_

Angeal kissed the sensuous lips, drinking in the well-known taste. Clothes were shed, and Genesis pushed Angeal down into the waiting earth. The scent of leather and Genesis's musk flooded his senses as Genesis straddled his hips. He ran his fingers over the contours of Genesis's cheek, memorizing the new lines as he had once learned the satin of youth.

Genesis looked at him with hooded eyes, "Am I beautiful?"

"Always," Genesis's kiss burned him; hungry lips mirroring his own desperate fever.

Time pressed her thumb into them, scorching them with her pitiless power. Angeal's nails dung into Genesis's back, pulling him closer until their naked flesh created a furnace between them. He felt his urgency matched in Genesis. Hands and mouths mapped the other's body as if it would be snatched away in the next breath. Angeal ground his hips up into Genesis's, declaring his need and desire, unwaned by time and alteration. Genesis was eternal temptation. Angeal would hunger for his lover until his own flesh rotted into dust.

Genesis's wing snapped out again, and curled about Angeal, capturing the fire of their bodies in silky feathers. Angeal's fingers traced its delicate bones. Genesis pressed his soft mouth to his and moaned his need into Angeal's gasping one.

Their eyes met, and Angeal was scorched by the blue-fire, "Genesis!"

Genesis lowered himself slowing onto Angeal. The shadows of dawn played over the angles of his face, and a taunting smirk curled his lips. Genesis arched his back, crying out, as nerves exploded in ecstasy. His copper tresses caught the awakening rays of light. The sunrise at his back wove a halo of fire into his hair, blazing like the sun.

….

Cloud's body was jerked and jostled as the covered truck bumped down the careworn road. It seemed the road to Junon was as riddled with potholes as he remembered. Highways' did not appear to be Shinra's priority when it came to expenditures.

The heat was oppressive. Outside the confining canvas the air would be crisp and cool with fall, but the stagnate air within was suffocating. Cramped sweaty bodies recycled the same air over and over, infusing it with the flame of their breaths.

Cloud looked longing towards the sliver of sunlight peeking through the drawn flaps. The other cadets complained loudly around him, but he remained silent as always in their company. He privately wondered if their instructors were trying to sweat the weak ones out. It seemed the trial had begun the moment they plopped themselves on the transport's unyielding benches.

They had finally received news of their destination just before pulling off. The SOLDIER exams would start in Junon. From there they would individually have to track their way to a number of check points throughout the next week. All the while fighting off the parade of monster this area hosted. 'Individually' was the key word, one he knew many of the others would forgo. It would be far safer to travel in a group, but Cloud had no intention of sticking around the other cadets. He just wanted this to be over, and he worked better alone.

His palms itched from clasping the sweaty metal of his gun. He had it propped between his knees, his hands gripping the barrel to keep it from tumbling over during the jolting ride. He craved the cool press of a sword's hilt in his hands. He had no choice but to accept the issued weapon. He had slipped his two stolen knives into his boots, and his pocket hid the fire, cure, and bolt materia he'd stolen all those months ago. They were not fully mastered, but would serve his needs.

After another sizzling hour they pulled into Junon, and were released from the canvas cage. The sun was just beginning her descent, and Cloud gulped in the sweet air. He'd almost forgotten what clean air tasted like. Junon had its share of mako reactors, but nothing to Midgar. Cloud's head tilted up to the bleached sky, marveling at the glimpse of a proud hawk soaring high above. He missed his mako altered sight. In the past he would have been able to see the amber of piercing eyes as the hawk glided on tunneled air.

Cloud's attention was drawn back to the earth when travel provisions were handed out and last minute instructions barked. Then they were being herded like chattel towards the waiting gates, barley given a moment to gain their bearings, but this was a SOLDIER exam not a day trip.

Cloud skirted the crowding cadets; he hated the press of bodies. He wished again for this to be over. He couldn't remember what the last exam had been like, or how exactly he had failed. It did not matter now. This was just an obstacle in his way. He had things to do, people to save, and see…

Burning emerald eyes scorched his mind, and Cloud shivered. The voice asking him to_ stay_ caressed his spine. Sephiroth. The name held an ocean of emotions and thoughts all tangled up in the essence of the man. The muscles of his stomach tightened at the name, old persistent instincts were not easily thrown aside. But the past fears were over ridden by the new.

It was not a fear of _Sephiroth_, but rather_ anyone_ seeing the twisted light of his soul. The fear of letting the shields fall, and eyes pierce him. It was the fear of being seen, and seeing so deeply in return. He wanted to run away as he always did when others chiseled away at the barrier, but now Sephiroth threatened to tear it away entirely!

For long years he had buried himself in memories that were both sweeter and bitterer than the present, but now someone was offering him the unknown future. He had stopped hoping, stopped dreaming for anything a long time ago. But Sephrioth wanted to unwrap the walls of his soul, and touch his spirit and be touched in return. Sephrioth wanted to create fire and untainted light with_ him_, to make them whole together.

Can two damaged souls making a clean one? Could there be wholeness for such as them? There would always but the memories, the stain of the past, but there was an unsoiled future. A future he had stopped hoping for years ago.

Sephrioth burned with the radiance and hunger of a star. He demanded everything from Cloud, but Cloud had so little to give. How could it possibly be enough for a man like Sephiroth? Sephrioth's need would strip Cloud bear and devour him! But then, Sephrioth yearned for Cloud to take in return. What Sephiroth seized would be given back tenfold. The other Sephiroth would have used Cloud, taken what he desired and throw the ashes away, but this one wanted to keep Cloud. He wanted to burn beside Cloud, not through him; until their fires consumed each other, and they bleed into one purified flame.

This new future lay within his grasp, waiting for him to stretch out his hand and claim it, but Cloud shied from the thought. He was still hedging himself in the past, his own inadequacies and failures, his nothingness. But he yearned to reach out and partake of the offered future, to let its cleansing juices slip over him. He craved to take what Sephiroth offered, but he couldn't. Not yet.

Cloud carefully folded the memories and thoughts away; now was not the time. Cloud did not know his own mind, and less his heart. But then he rarely knew them, and now what not the time or place to go wandering down those fractured paths.

A flash of white drew his attention. There, scuttling down a shadowed alley was Hojo! Cloud would know that back anywhere. He hesitated for only a moment, his gaze flickering back to the waiting gates. He had time. Cloud let the gloom of the back-paths swallow him.

Hojo was not a difficult target to track, and Cloud kept a wary distance. Hojo slipped through a side gate in Junon's defenses, the guards giving a salute. It was a small pedestrian one, leading to what remained of the old fishing village. There were only two guards, both regular Shinra troopers. The gate was fortified with beaming electric currents. It would be death to walk through without first disabling them at the guard station.

Cloud was a shadow, running on silent wings. The first guard didn't have time to call out before a knife was impaling his heart. There was a shout, and a vicious struggle before the second guard joined the other in death. Blood stained Cloud's uniform, his gloves, his face…

_I had too. Hojo._

His fingers flew over the controls, leaving bloody prints in their wake. The gate blinked open, and he was dashing through the next moment.

The sound of the sea, crashing onto rocky beaches, beat across his eardrums. There were no monsters this close to the port city. Hojo did not hesitate before plunging into the slowing dying forest that had once hung its gnarled fingers over Junon's walls. The mako reactors were slowing sucking the life out of this patch of Gaia. Cloud stepped over rotting branches scattering the forest floor, and hurried after the scientist. As they drew farther from the city, westward towards the sea, the trees thinned, shrinking down to twisted stunts as their roots clutched the sandy soil.

The ocean was revealed, the sun glinting in the churning depths. Bier stung Cloud's nose, and he reveled in the vision. He loved the sea, but he tore his eyes from her to track his prey. He watched The Snake slither over to a majestic outcropping of sea rocks adorning the solitary beach. Cloud's footsteps marked the soft sand just behind Hojo's.

Cloud blinked when the scientist suddenly vanished into the rock wall. He let out a curse and quickened his pace. His eyes scanned the gateless expanse. Where had Hojo gone? His hand ran over cool stone, feeling for the mystery. He abruptly found himself grasping empty air where his eyes told him there should be firm rock. Cloud licked his lips, tasting the flaks of salt and sand the wind had stained them with, before stepping into the frigid blackness.

His hand brushed a solid wall on his left, and he followed it deeper into the secret cavern. An eerie green light met him, the scent of lab assaulted him, and his body shivered with revulsion. He froze.

_He couldn't do this._ His feet refused to take him in there. Hojo was there, and needles, and agony. His mind broke under the onslaught of terror and memoires. He wanted Zack. He's ears strained for his friend's comforting voice, but there was nothing. He was alone.

_Get a hold of yourself! Stop being weak. Hojo is in there and you are going to kill him. Rip him limb from limb. Make him pay. _

Cloud forced his legs to bring him into the waiting hell. He reached the source of the light; it was filtering through the crack of a door. Slowly, silently, he inched it open.

His eyes swept the room. It was not a lab, at least not this part, and Hojo was nowhere in sight. Something else caught his gaze, and he stared transfixed, towards the opposite end of the long room. In a glass tube floated a monster. Blue scaly skin covered her, hair floated like snakes in the green liquid.

Jenova. Cloud bruised his rifle with the force of his grip. Jenova.

He slipped noiselessly into the room. Quick now. Here was his chance to destroy her once and for all. Her cells were not corrupting his blood, no voice screamed in his head.

He walked purposefully towards the trapped monster. He wished he had First Tsurugi in his hand, but knew it would make no difference. Chopping up her corpse was not going to be enough. Every last piece of her had to be destroyed. Her body had to be incinerated, utterly extinguished, and he could think of nothing but fire that could achieve it. He only hoped he was strong enough. The fire materia rested in his pocket, but was it sufficient? He wouldn't know until he tried.

He raised the butt of his rifle and sent it crashing into the tank, burning mako swept over him. He barely felt it, maybe he was screaming but it didn't matter. Nothing existed but the destruction of the monster. Nothing mattered but snuffing out the light from the red eye staring straight into his.

But then someone was speaking, an oily voice broke into Cloud's hypnotic thoughts. He was suddenly, painfully aware of the mako soaking his cadet uniform, eating his flesh. Then the pain was receding, his mind turning sluggish. He pulled the pricking needle out of his throat, and stared numbly at the tranquilizer dart.

"…a little rat putting its dirty paws where they don't belong. What shall we do with you, little rat?"

Hojo. How had he forgotten? How had things gone so wrong? His eyes sung back to the tank, the single red eye staring back. Jenova. What was wrong with him? How had he managed to forget everything? How had he let this happen?

His body was falling, falling towards the mako slick floor. He tried to stop in. He took a lurching step for the door, but it was far far too late for escape. He had failed.

As his body connected with the unforgiving ground only one thought remained. _Sephiroth._


	14. Chapter 14

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 14

Sephiroth watched the transports slowly empty. He forced himself to hover in the shadows even though he ached to stand next to the anxiously waiting Zachary and Kunsel. He wanted to be the first one Cloud saw; he wanted to pull Cloud into his arms, and bury his face in the soft plumes. But that was not possible, not now, perhaps never. Sephiroth would not risk Cloud's safety for anything, and he could not deny that being seen with the General would be nothing but dangerous for Cloud. So Sephiroth waited, impatiently, for a mere glimpse of Cloud. He would have Cloud to himself soon, but not soon enough.

The returning cadets had finished pouring out of the transport trucks, and Sephiroth's eyes scanned the exhausted looking group with growing concern. Where was Cloud?

His head turned at an angry shout. Zachary was engaged in a heated conversation with one of the instructors. Zachary snatched a list from the man, before devouring it with fearful eyes. Kunsel was hovering nearby, uneasy knots worked into his smooth brow.

Sephiroth's teeth clenched. He needed to know what was happening! He needed to see Cloud's bright head breaking through the crowd. Zachary threw the paper back in the instructor's face, his voice breaking in a desperate shout.

"What do you mean he didn't make the check point? Cloud's too good to…to…" Desperate eyes turned to Kunsel, and the other SOLDIER placed a hand on Zachary's arm. "I don't believe it." Zachary's face was contorted in grief and denial. "I won't believe it! There's no way he 'didn't make it' not Spiky, not Spiky too..."

_NO!_ Sephiroth stumbled away from the scene, his mind refusing to believe it. It was not true. _Not Cloud. Not Cloud. No! Please. Please. Please. No!_ His mind refused to accept this. _It was lies, all lies_. Sephiroth clutched his head.

A few monsters could not…. Not _Cloud_. Cloud was still out there, he must be. And he needed help. That was all. Cloud had been injured and needed help. Sephiroth would find him! He would bring Cloud home. He would find Cloud, and they would be together like they were meant to be. Cloud was his; no one could take Cloud from him. He would not allow it!

He straightened, a slow exhale escaping his lips. Cloud was not…gone. Sephiroth had to find him, he had to hurry! He moved towards the doors. He needed his sword, materia, a medical kit in case Cloud was injured…

"Sephiroth?" He didn't stop. Cloud was in danger. "Hey, Sephiroth!"

Zachary clutched his sleeve, and Sephiroth turned with a snarl. "Get off!"

"Whoa!" Zachary quickly released him. "I was just going to tell you something about Cloud, since you're friends right?"

"I already know." Sephiroth moved to brush passed the two SOLDIERS.

"You do? Well, Kunsel and I are requesting immediate leave. We're going to Junon to find Spiky. So can we have it?"

"Have what?" _A medical kit, he'd take a helicopter…_

"Leave, so we can bring Cloud back."

"You will have to file your request with Lazard; I am not wasting time telling him."

"I thought you were Cloud's friend." Kunsel demanded, "And you can't even be bothered to help us out when he could be…"

"I do not have time, SOLDIER," Sephiroth snapped, "Because I am leaving for Junon myself, _immediately_."

"You are?" Zachary raised a brow, but quickly recovered from his surprise. "Well then, we can come with you! Are you getting a helicopter, because that would cut the time in half?"

Sephiroth hesitated a moment, but his common sense broke through his fear for Cloud. "You may come with me_, if_ you can be at the #13 helicopter pad in twenty minutes. I am not waiting."

"Got it." Zack was already dashing off, but Kunsel turned back to ask anxiously. "Should we file leave with Lazard, sir? That could take hours?"

"I'll take care of it."

"Thank-you sir."

Sephiroth had no intention of telling Lazard anything, but he would vouch for the two Seconds when Shinra finally discovered where her General had disappeared too. By then though, Cloud would be safe and Sephiroth would deal with the bureaucratic mess.

It was fortunate Zachary and Kunsel had found him; they would never have been granted leave to search for a registered…dead cadet. If the initial search for failed cadets did not turn up the stragglers then that was that. Shinra wasn't about to waste two of its best SOLDIERs on a rescue mission for a cadet. When Shinra discovered their _General_ had gone on such a rescue mission…well Cloud was worth it. Sephiroth was passed worrying about appearances, not when Cloud's life was in danger. Shinra could go fuck itself.

….

Kunsel stared blankly at the tent wall. His mind refused to grant him respite. Two weeks, they had been searching for Cloud for two weeks and hadn't found even a boot print to mark his….death. Kunsel hated the thought, but he could only deceive himself for so long. Cloud had not been seen for three weeks now; the probability of survival was almost nonexistent.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He was not going to cry, not yet, not here. Cloud had been so young. Too young. The possibility of Cloud not making it through the exams had not even occurred to him, but even the best warrior could be overwhelmed. Kunsel knew Cloud would have forgone the safety offered in numbers, but Cloud was so strong, so skilled, how had this happened?

Zack shifted behind him, before sighing deeply in sleep. Zack still clung to a glimmer of hope that Cloud was still out there, somewhere, but Kunsel knew the days were eating away at Zack's stubborn optimism. But even when they both accepted that Cloud was really gone they would still be out searching, for Sephiroth was beyond reason.

Kunsel knew Zack was as stunned by the General's behavior as he was. It hurt to lose a friend, Kunsel ached deep in his chest, but Sephiroth was as a man possessed. He barley slept; Zack had to practically force feed him. Sephiroth drove himself into exhaustion and beyond, it was alarming. Sephiroth was out looking for Cloud even now, in the middle of the night. Kunsel almost pitied the monsters that got in the man's way.

The one time Zack had tried reasoning with the man, Sephiroth had become violent. Thankfully he'd taken his aggression out on the earth, leaving great rents in it. Kunsel shuttered to think what fate awaited the one who tried to convince Sephiroth that Cloud was not coming back.

Zack and Kunsel had speculated in private whether Cloud and Sephiroth had been more then friends. It seemed probable, and Kunsel was not blind to the immense grief lurking just beneath Sephiroth's skin, being held back by will and denial alone. It was painful to watch the man destroy himself, and Kunsel shared Zack's feeling of utter helplessness. Neither of them knew Sephiroth well. Kunsel would have pitied him, but Sephiroth was above pity and would have thrown it back in his face.

Kunsel did not want to imagine what Sephiroth was feeling. He'd wondered what he would do if Zack was ever killed, and found the thought unbearable. A void of emptiness greeted him, and he could not bear it. He threw the thoughts aside, shivering in the wake of overwhelming sorrow they stirred in him. He wrapped an arm about his belly, trying to escape the lingering pain. Zack was alive; he could hear his steady breathing behind him. Zack would never be his, but he was _alive_.

Zack shifted in his sleep, rolling over in the confined space. A warm chest pressed into Kunsel's back, and he could not help the spike of his pulse. Zack was so close, so close Kunsel could feel the beat of his heart pressed against him. Alive and warm. Zack sighed again, the humid breath kissing Kunsel's neck, causing a shiver to wrack his lighter frame. _Zack, oh Gaia!_

Zack murmured something in sleep before slinging an arm around Kunsel's waist. Kunsel's breath caught, he didn't know if he could bear this, yet the thought of pulling away was unimaginable. _Zack _was holding him, pressing his face into his neck. The scent, the feel of Zack engulfed Kunsel. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, trying to imprint it upon his eternal memories. It was perfect, and it was agony. Kunsel was tortured by the thought of never feeling this bliss again; knowing Zack would never hold him in consciousness, not like this. Kunsel gradually slipped into sleep, relishing this beautiful torment.

….

Tseng moved towards the two waiting SOLDIERS. They watched him come, their eyes flicking to the last member of their part. Lines of concern etching in their skin. Tseng's studied the rogue General. Blood shot eyes met his before looking away in disinterest. Tseng was trained not to show shock, but even he found it hard to keep a cool façade at the sight before him.

Sephiroth looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. His hair was pulled back in a long silver horsetail. Ashen cheeks were sunken under protruding cheekbones. His leather clothing sported large patches of dried blood and ragged rents. The man was a wreck, and Tseng hadn't the slighted idea _why_.

Shinra had been in a state of uproar these last three weeks. Sephiroth, their General, had disappeared along with two other high-ranking SOLDIERs. Shinra's military was running about like a headless chicken. It would have been comic if the situation had not been so serious. It should really have been no surprise that the three SOLDIERs could disappear so effectively. Shinra had had little success tracking down the two other missing Firsts, and they had been gone for months.

The wild empty lands about Junon did not lend themselves to quick discovery. It was mere luck the three had been found so quickly. A goat herder had stumbled upon the stolen helicopter, which was the first and only clue Shinra had had of the missing SOLDIERS's location. It had taken a few more days to pinpoint their position.

Tseng surveyed the three warily, unsure of their intentions. It was possible they had deserted and would pose a hostel threat, but Tseng doubted it. They made no move to unsheathe weapons, only standing and awaiting his approach.

Cautiously Tseng stepped farther from the safety of his helicopter, subtly motioning Reno to remain inside, and at the controls. Sephiroth looked unstable, but he found it hard to believe Zack would desert. From the little he knew of the Second class, he had found him intensely loyal, and more than a little naïve. He just hoped that naivety had not snapped, and been the cause of his disappearance.

Tseng's scanned the last SOLDIER, Kunsel another Second. He did not know him personally, but all the SOLDIERs he had questioned had only positive words for him. He hoped Kunsel's apparent easy going manner was still in-tacked.

"Zack," Tseng approached the Second first. Sephiroth was holding himself apart, staring intently into the underbrush, as if searching for something.

"Tseng," Zack nodded before his eyes slipped back to Sephiroth as if he thought the General was about to disappear any minute, and perhaps he was. "Did Lazard send you? Is our leave up? Sorry we didn't call but…Sephiroth um…thought it best we keep our phones turned off." Zack rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "It's better not to upset him."

"I see," Tseng looked back at the tense man. _Probably a good idea_. "Would you like to explain what you are doing out here?"

Zack looked confused, "We're looking for Spiky."

"Spiky?"

"Cadet Strife," Kunsel elaborated. "He was listed as...dead after the SOLDIER exams."

"You are looking for a dead cadet?"

"He. Is. Not. Dead." Sephiroth's voice cut like ice, but he did not turn to look at them.

"I see," Tseng did not see, but he kept the cool mask in place. "You are aware that you have been listed as deserters?"

"What?" Zack cried. "But Sephiroth…"

"Sephiroth did not inform Lazard of our request for leave?" Kunsel asked. The Second did not look entirely surprised at this revelation.

"They were on a mission with their General, Tseng," Sephiroth's eyes finally turned to meet Tseng's. They hit him like a punch, and Tseng forced himself to not blink from the stare. "You are wasting your time here. I am not going back, not until I find him."

"Sephiroth, you are the General of the Shinra army, you cannot actually be proposing looking for a dead cadet…" Tseng was cut off.

Sephiroth had moved quicker then eyes could follow and Tseng suddenly found himself lifted off his feet before being slammed into the earth. He lay staring up at puffy clouds, and trying to work out how to breathe.

"He is not dead!" Sephiroth ground out, a maniacal light entering the silted greens.

"Yo…" Reno was shoving the helicopter door open.

"Stay." Tseng snapped, slowly raising himself up to his elbows. Reno hesitated, but one look from Tseng and the cabin door was being creaked reluctantly closed again.

"Sephiroth," Zack took a hesitant step forward, but Kunsel's hand immediately snagged in the SOLDIER's sweater, holding him back.

"Give him a moment." Kunsel advised, before turning to Tseng. "Director, I believe we can all agree that Cloud Strife is still alive and in need of assistance."

Tseng held Kunsel's forceful gaze. Kunsel's eyes willed him to see how thin the thread of Sephiroth's control had become. Tseng nodded wordlessly, Sephiroth's glare was still pounding into him.

"Sephiroth," Tseng understood the risk of pressing, but he still had a mission to complete. Sephiroth was the General, and Tseng had to bring him back. "You are still the General. You have responsibilities…"

"I do not care; I am not leaving until I find him."

"But Shinra…"

"What do I care about Shinra? You have no idea what they have done to me, Turk." Sephiroth snarled, and Tseng swallowed at the hate he saw in the man's orbs. "They will not take Cloud from me as well!"

Tseng paused. He had heard rumors of what Hojo did to Sephiroth, whispers of ghastly tests conducted on the man. He was not naïve enough to hope them only rumors though, not when Hojo was involved. This mission was quickly running onto the sticky ground of conscious. He respected Sephiroth. It was unfortunate what had happen to the man's two friends, but still, Tseng had a mission to accomplish.

"They will not let you remain here, Sephiroth." He tired to reason.

"What can they do? Send the army to haul me back?" Sephiroth mocked. "I am done being their willing dog. You can tell them I resign for all I care. Let them send the army, and we shall see how many return."

"Sephiroth," Zack gasped, "You wouldn't…"

Sephiroth looked very much like he would for a moment, but then his eyes focused upon the horrified SOLDIERs for what seemed the first time since Tseng had stepped off the helicopter. The burning rage and hate flickered, but the immense pain behind did not abate.

"No, perhaps not." He murmured before looking away again. "But I cannot leave him out there."

"Sephiroth," Tseng took a hesitant step forward. "Listen to me. Defying Shinra will not help you find the cadet…"

"Cloud," Zack insisted.

"Bringing the army here will not save Cloud. You need people searching, people who know how to find people. You needed the Turks." Sephiroth frowned, but Tseng knew he was listening. "Return to Midgar and the Turks will find Cloud." _Or at least we will bring his remains back._

"No, I cannot leave…"

"Sephiroth," Zack broke in. "Think about it, the Turks can find anybody, and if you keep going at this rate you'll be no help to Cloud when you find him. You need to rest…"

"I do not need rest." Sephiroth hissed.

"Alright," Zack threw up his hands. "But do you think having the army swarming down on us is going to help Cloud?" Sephiroth pursed his lips, but he was listening, and they could only hope he saw reason.

"I will return to Midgar the moment we discover anything." Tseng continued, "We'll find him Sephiroth." And he hoped they would, if only for Sephiroth's sake. It might only be a body bag they brought back, but at least denial would no longer be possible and the man could move on.

Tseng had had no idea this entire mess was over the death of a_ cadet_, an insignificant casualty that should have been quickly forgotten. But it seemed Cloud Strife was far more than the usual cadet. Not only had two SOLDIERs dropped everything to find him, but General Sephiroth was threatening to abandon Shinra for him!

Tseng was quickly forming his own theories on the possible relationship this hinted at. The hard, calloused side of him whispered that it was fortunate the boy was out of the way. It was unsafe for anyone to have this much influence over the head of the most powerful military force in the world. But the small part of him that could never be quite Turk enough, pitied Sephiroth. It seemed the man had lost his only two friends and his possible lover in a matter of months, no one deserved that.

"So, you want to slip the collar back around the dog's neck and bring me to heel." Sephiroth's face was blank, staring out into the brush again, but then he turned to meet Tseng's dark eyes. "Very well, I shall return, but if you do not find him. If you do not employ every measure of your skill..." He left the threat unvoiced; there was no need to utter that fate.

Tseng nodded solemnly. "I understand, and I shall do everything in my power to find him." Tseng forced himself not to break the piercing stare, and eventually Sephiroth looked away with a small nod of acceptance.

Sephiroth moved gracefully towards the waiting helicopter, no sign of the exhaustion his body and mind was no doubt suffering. Tseng turned to the silently watching SOLDIERS. "I think you should return with him."

"No way! I am not leaving Spiky!" Zack protested.

It was Kunsel who said what Tseng was thinking, "Zack, he shouldn't be alone. You know him the best, he might listen to you." Kunsel placed a hand on Zack's shoulder. "I'll stay and find Cloud. I'll bring him home, even if…even if…"

"I know." Zack silenced him. "I don't want to accept it, but I know the likelihood of it being only a body you bring back. I'll go though, you're right, Sephiroth shouldn't be alone."

"Thank-you Zack," Tseng offered the SOLDIER a nod before moving back to the helicopter. He would have to speak with Reno before letting the fiery Turk alone with the two tightly wound SOLDIERS.

As the helicopter lifted off Tseng snapped open his PHS. It rang twice before Rufus's refined drawl filled his ear. _"Tseng."_

"Rufus, I have a situation. Sephiroth and the SOLDIER Second Zachary Fair are on their way back to Midgar."

"_Good work; did you discover the reason behind their disappearance?"_

"Yes, sir. It appears a cadet named Cloud Strife went missing during the SOLDIER exams a month ago, and all three of them came to Junon to find him."

A pause, _"A cadet?"_

"Yes sir."

"_Has this cadet been listed as deceased?"_

"Probably."

"_What is the situation?"_ Tseng could hear the sharp mind analyzing the new information, to discover how it could best be used to benefit Rufus.

"Sephiroth would not agree to return until I promised Turk assistance in finding Strife. I said I would search for him personally." It was not his place to assign himself missions, and Rufus could refuse the request, but Tseng knew he would not. The vice president knew how to turn a situation to his own advantage too well.

"_Sephiroth was attached to the cadet?"_ Rufus mused, _"And the two other SOLDIERS. Zachary Fair is soon to become First?"_

"Yes sir."

"_The two most powerful SOLDIERS have an interest in a dead cadet. Is there any possibility Strife might be alive?"_

"It is highly unlikely."

"_That is unfortunate, it would have been profitable to have them both indebted to us for the boy's life. Still, do what you can Tseng. Gratitude can be a powerful incentive."_

"Yes sir." The line hummed dead, and Tseng snapped the PHS shut.

His eyes drifted to the remaining SOLDIER. Kunsel was sorting through the gear Tseng had taken from the helicopter. Tseng had ordered Reno and Rude to join them in the search. They would question Cloud's fellow ex-SOLDIER cadets, before reporting back to Tseng.

Tseng knew Rufus well, and understood his employer's calculating mind. The Turks would have leverage with Sephiroth were they to bring his lover back alive, though that was highly unlikely, still a corpse could have its uses. Tseng knew Rufus very well indeed, but this was one mission he was determined not to fail for his own reasons. He admitted he was shocked by Sephiroth's behavior and appearance, though he would never reveal it. He respected the man, and Zack was a good SOLDIER. Neither of them deserved this on top of the last few months. Tseng would bring them back a body if nothing else.

….

They came for him again. Dragging his weakly struggling body from the tube to strap him down on cold metal. He heard Her laughing in his head. What a fool he had been. He thought he understood Jenova, believed he had grasped the measure of her power. He had left his mind open to invasion, thinking himself save without her cells, but her reach was deeper then cells. To have her cells corrupting the body paved a smooth path for her, but she was not limited by cells alone.

Jenova, the Calamity. He had not perceived her essence before, and now he paid the price of ignorance. She was more than a monster. She was Death. Hate. The Devourer. She, who had existed for thousands of years, reveled in her being. She lived to gorge herself upon worlds. Her hunger would never be quenched, it was everlasting.

She had seen him and marked him. Threat. Danger. She'd slipped into his mind, slaughtered his reason, used his own hate against him, and now he lay in metal chains while she laughed in his head. He had been a fool, and this was his punishment.

They strapped him down, cold metal biting into his wrists and ankles, caging his chest. Their hands showed no mercy, but he did not beg. There was but one hope in his mako deadened brain. Every time they pulled him from the green tubes he knew he was growing both stronger and weaker.

His mind struggled to break through the stupor. He had to shake it off, if only he could think! A part of him was aware of the new strength building daily in his flesh. Mako. He felt the power humming through muscles, pulsing in his veins. If he could but shake the numbness from his limbs and see through the mako daze, he could tear off these fetters. And when he had chopped off every last hand, when he was free, it would be Her time.

He could still feel her presence, a rotting filth on the edge of his consciousness, she was not far. The fire materia still nestle in his pocket, ready for its master to cast the killing blow. Soon he would find a way to clear his brain, and drive his body into action.

"…prepare the Specimen." Hojo's voice slithered into his mind, and he felt the now familiar sticky patches pressed into his forehead.

_No! Not this, anything but this!_

"N…." His tongue worked uselessly, unable to finish a simple protest.

"Specimen is conscious today professor."

"Noted. Prepare for a double dosage." Fingers peeled back his eyelids, and he was blinded by the brightness. "Triple the dosage, the Specimen is still fighting it."

"N…." his body flapped helplessly in the restraints.

"You are proving a difficult Specimen, boy. But I will not allow failure. I have spent too many years on this hypothesis. To separate the mind from the body, do you see the genius of it? No, of course not, but I shall tell you." The voice was purring now, gleefully anticipating the coming tortures. Cloud had heard all this before, he tried to shut the oiled voice from his mind, but it chased him into the silence.

"When I have succeeded in casting your mind out only the body's shell shall remain. I can insert any consciousness I chose into the body to create perfection. Why, I could even use it for my own mind!" Cloud could not summon the horror at the prospect; he had heard this speech to many times. He no longer had the energy to care, "So many possibilities!"

"Not there you idiot!" The gloating speech was abruptly broken when Hojo began snarling at one of the assistants, before turning back to Cloud.

"No mistakes this time! The mind splits itself into multiple personalities when mistakes are made. It will then break entirely before being eradicated from the body. It must be accomplished in a perfect split. Commence Test 34."

Cloud screamed. Bones snapped in his mind. The pain surged through his skull, his back arched, and his body shook like a doll caught in a giant's paw. He threw up old walls, forged in agony, but this pain torn through them as if they were no more than wispy cobwebs.

He ran, hiding in the dark recesses of his mind, but the pain found him. Scooping him out and crushing his fracturing mind. Its iron claws sunk into his very being, shredding him, pounding him into dust. His spirit voiced its agony in screams, until his throat broke and even this release was taken from him. It was as if the claws had ripped into his chest, cracking through his ribs one by one, wrenching them out until his inner being was bared. His beating soul lay exposed and the claws sunk into it, deep into the secret places of his mind. They broke him, the iron pinchers tearing chunks out of him, battering him until there was nothing left but the pain.

An old wound was cleaved in two; the careful stitching ripped cruelly from the melded halves of Cloud's soul. The claws had delved too deeply, and his mind had broken under the assault. It was too much. Too much. And then the pain was halved, and Cloud's shrieking lunges gulped in air. It still hurt, Gaia it hurt! But the two souls shared the pain now.

Cloud's mind nestled into the familiar embrace of his other half. Strong arms held him as the storm raged about them, but he knew they would endure. It was not more then they could bear.

"We won't let him destroy us. Not this time." The other swore, running gentle fingers through Cloud's shuttering spirit. Cloud pressed his face into the hard chest, inhaling the familiar scent. They would not let Hojo win. Zack was with him now. His savior, his brother, his other half, they would survive.


	15. Chapter 15

This Silence Sacrifice

Chapter 15

Sephiroth jumped gracefully from the helicopter, and moved into the Shinra building without a backwards glance. Zack watched the double doors slide shut behind the painfully straight back. Sephiroth still looked like a mess, but no one would know that from the man's expression. Sephiroth would give them no weakness to exploit.

Zack hoped Sephiroth would find someone to confide in when all the denials were swept away. Zack would be here, but he did not know if Sephiroth would breach his private walls for him. Sephiroth had cared a great deal for Cloud, of that Zack was sure. He also had a feeling Sephiroth was going to shut everyone out and bear his pain alone.

Zack dropped from the helicopter with a heavy sigh. He wished Kunsel were here. It was easier to believe Spiky was still alive when he wasn't feeling so alone. Cloud had grown on him over the months, and he had hoped…well it seemed too late for hopes now. Cloud had been an exceptional young man, both as a warrior and person. Zack had few truly close friends, he was an easy guy to get along with, but when it came to true trust and intimacy there were only a handful of people he placed within that circle. As much as Zack wanted to deny it, it seemed yet another of those special people were gone forever. He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye, just like Angeal…

Zack pressed a hand over his mouth. _Not here. Not now_.

He couldn't quite snuff out the glimmer of hope for both his lost friends, he didn't want to. But it was so hard, so hard to keep believing without stones to build that hope upon. At least with Angeal he had Cloud's words to cling to, a possible cure in Sephiroth, but no one had seen the two missing SOLDIER Firsts in months. What if… _no. He couldn't think like this._

"Yo, Fair," Zack's darkened blue eyes meet pale green. "So what's the deal with this cadet?"

"Why don't you ask Tseng." Zack couldn't handle Reno right now.

Reno shrugged, and Zack knew Tseng hadn't answered Reno's questions either. "So I am supposed to waste my time looking for a dead kid?"

Zack snapped. His hand twisted in Reno's messy Turk suit and slammed him against the resting helicopter. "Shut up Reno! It doesn't matter if Cloud is dead, you are still going to bring him back!" Reno's eyes had widened at the assault, but he quickly blanked his features.

"Do you understand, Turk?" Zack ground out.

"Got it," there was no sneer in the answer for once, and Zack hoped the Turk really did understand the severity of the situation.

Zack released Reno, and the Turk stumbled before regaining his feet. They stared at each other in tense silence, but then Zack looked away and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He just needed to get to his room. He was exhausted and barely holding back the waves of grief. He had spent the last three weeks in as much denial as Sephiroth, but hope's veils were quickly shredding.

"We'll bring him back." Zack looked back at the Turk. The mocking light had faded from the pale eyes, replaced by a rare serious expression. Zack gave Reno a small nod before the Turk began brushing off his suit, and sauntering away.

Zack moved to the sliding doors beckoning him back, but for the first time in a long while Zack did not feel the satisfaction of being home as they slid closed behind him. He would never walk through them with Angeal again. Kunsel would not come knocking at his apartment door. And Cloud…Cloud would never walk into his class with that confident dangerous gate, because Cloud would never walk anywhere again.

….

It was not difficult for Vincent Valentine to move through the top security floors of the Shinra building. It was early evening, and the halls were still full of bustling employees' intent on finishing the day's work and clocking out. None noted the silent shadow. Vincent had been an exceptional Turk, but there were some things not even the best trained human body could achieve. Vincent was no longer fully human though.

Vincent slipped into Sephiroth's office, and not even his son was aware of his presence. Crimson eyes scanned the tense form. Sephiroth's skin was an unhealthy pallor. The mouth that had been firm before was not pulling into a subconscious grimace, as if the mere act of running over documents gave Sephiroth pain.

Tinny, near imperceptible lines folded around the ex-Turk's mouth. He had not sought Sephiroth out since arriving in Midgar several months ago. He had been preoccupied with his plans for revenge. He had made several contacts, but it was not enough. Hojo had disappeared without a trace almost two months ago.

Vincent was not blind to the world slipping by him, though. He had used the last few months wisely, in that respect at least. He was no longer ignorant of the past twenty-three years of human existence. He had quickly realized his son was a well known figure throughout the world, and about such individuals rumors and gossip weaved themselves as thick as flies. He had learned of his son's disappearance and sudden return two weeks ago.

Vincent did not doubt himself when on assignment, whether of his own making or another's, but he was aware of his own weakness and uncertainty when it came to human relations. He had debated his own right to seek Sephiroth out; there had been no hesitation in his mind that he wanted to discover the cause behind Sephiroth's disappearance. But he had only seen his son once since awakening, and his own insecurities and reservation hindered his decision until he now found himself looking upon a troubled man. He had failed his son again.

"Sephiroth," Vincent stepped further into the room, revealing himself.

Sephiroth's head snapped up, his hand reaching automatically for his sword, but stayed the movement when his eyes found Vincent. "Vincent."

Green eyes were guarded as they watched him, but Vincent witnessed the great pain lying beneath the surface. It was not right. Vincent did not want to see that look in his son's eyes, not the same look he would wear if he unlocked his own soul. Not the look he had worn since Lucrecia had discarded him.

"Looking for a welcome? Well it's a little late for niceties." Sephiroth's mouth twisted in bitterness.

Vincent kept his face blank. This was his punishment. He had placed his own revenge before the only one he had left. He had left Sephiroth alone again. "So it seems."

"What do you want?"

Vincent looked away. He could endure much, he had endured so much already, but this…the cutting grief in Sephiroth's eyes was too much. "I should have come sooner."

"Why? Do you think I wanted you, _father_? I do not need you, I need no one." Sephiroth lashed out, pain biting the words.

"You do not need me, I know, but I…if you wished to speak of it…"

"A shoulder to cry on? How touching."

Vincent's expression did not change, but there was a sudden flash of yellow in blood-red eyes. Chaos had roused at his human's distress. Sephiroth's eyes narrowed, and Vincent struggled the demon down. Now was _not_ the time.

"I do not expect anything…I do not deserve your confidence. But, I know what it is like to loss someone you love."

"He is not dead!" Sephiroth's voice broke on the last, and Vincent held the rippling eyes until they swung away. "He cannot be." Sephiroth breathed.

Silence encased them. Vincent waited. When Sephiroth finally spoke it was to his tightly clenched hands. "Cloud went missing almost two months ago. I went to look for him but…I cannot accept that he…that he…" Vincent watched a jaw muscle jump.

"Who is Cloud?" His voice was as smooth and silky as old wine.

Sephiroth looked up, "Ah, I forgot, you do not know. Cloud is the one would told me about you. Our letter writer."

"I see." Vincent did not let his surprise show. "You met him them?"

"Yes." That one word told everything and nothing. "He knew you. I do not understand everything, but it seems he came from the future. He knew you there; he was the one who awoke you. There is something he had to change in this past, but he would not tell me." Sephiroth's mouth pulled down.

"The future?" Vincent kept this voice emotionless. "You believe him?"

"I do." Emerald eyes flashed up, daring Vincent to challenge Cloud's sincerity. But Vincent kept silent; he knew what it was to be lied to by the one you loved.

Perhaps this Cloud spoke the truth, it was hard to explain his knowledge in a simply fashion, and Vincent had seen many unbelievable things in his life. Cloud could also be lying to Sephiroth, but Vincent did not think now was a time to press. Sephiroth needed him, and for once Vincent was not going to fail him.

"You say he went missing?"

"Yes, he was taking the SOLDIER exams in Junon. He's been listed as…dead, but he can't…he was an accomplished fighter. He should have passed without trouble. I don't understand." Sephiroth ran a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic sign of agitation. Sephiroth had shown more emotion in the last few minutes then during the entire two days they last spent together.

"You care for him?" Vincent asked quietly.

Sephiroth's eyes swept up to crimson, "Yes, more than anything."

"Then I shall leave for Junon."

Sephiroth's lips parted. Their gazes locked for a long moment, and then, "Vincent you would…" But the words were cut off when the door was suddenly swept open with businesslike briskness.

…

Tseng had arrived back in Midgar a bare twenty minutes ago, and was on his way to General Sephiroth's office after his initial report to Rufus. He had spent the last two weeks digging up information on Cloud Strife's disappearance. He had discovered some suspicious and interesting things about the boy, but nothing to suggest Strife was still breathing. Nevertheless, he had promised Sephiroth a report, so that was what the man was going to get.

Tseng did not even consider knocking before stepping into the General's office. He regretted it the next moment when he was met with the barrel of a dangerous looking gun, and an unsheathed Masamune. The door swung shut behind him with a click that did nothing to break the sudden silence.

Tseng's eyes were riveted on the jewel-eyed man. He did not forget faces, not one like this, not even with the new, cold red eyes. "Vincent Valentine?" The gun cocked audibly, the man's stony gaze never wavered. Tseng briefly considered reaching for his own weapon, but already knew that would be suicide.

It was Sephiroth would broke the silence, "Tseng, what are you doing here?"

Tseng shifted his gaze to the General who was giving him an equally cold look, but at least the maniacal glint from their last encounter was no longer visible. "I came to report on Strife."

"Cloud? Have you found anything?" The Masamune never wavered, but Tseng heard the yearning in the man's voice.

"Nothing definite, but there is some interesting activity I will share. That is, if we can have this discussion in a non-hostile environment, and you tell me what a dead man is doing in your office, General."

"You won't be the one asking questions, Tseng." Sephiroth's face had returned to its neutral mask once the conversation had turned from the cadet. "I shall have to kill you if you speak of this to anyone, and that includes Rufus."

"You trust my word?"

"No, but I trust your survival instincts."

"Very well."

"Not even Rufus, Tseng." Sephiroth warned.

"Agreed," and Tseng intended to keep his word.

His survival instinct was high, but Sephiroth was banking on the wrong thing, a miscalculation on the SOLDIER's part born of ignorance. It was a rare occurrence, but one that would not come back to bite Sephiroth in the ass. This had entered the realm of internal Turk business, and while Tseng would have been the good little dog and reported back to Rufus despite the threat to his life, a Turk never betrayed their own.

Whatever Valentine was, he'd once been a Turk, and even though he no longer wore the suit, Tseng didn't have enough information to discount the possibility of Valentine still being a Turk brother, red cape and all. Rufus Shinra may have earned the Turks loyalty (after more than a few arrogant and immature stunts and betrayals) and have cultivated the deadly garden at his backdoor that his father had long neglected, but whatever good-will and loyalty Rufus had earned, the young Vice President was not a Turk. And that's where the ball stopped.

"Tell me about Cloud." Sephiroth demanded.

Tseng's dark eyes flickered back to the silent Valentine. The man had not holstered his powerful gun, but at least it was no longer pointed at Tseng's head. Vincent knew Tseng had classified his existence as a Turk secret, without Tseng having to say a word. "You aren't going to tell me how you're alive, Valentine?"

"How do you know who I am?" The soft voice sent a shiver of delicious danger down Tseng's spine, but his expression never altered.

"Your old file."

"Hum, and you are?"

"Tseng, Director of the Turks." Tseng refused to let his sudden satisfaction with his title seep into his voice.

"I see." Red eyes swept over him with practiced calculation. Vincent's eyes held nothing, voids of pooled blood. Damn the man for being an exceptional Turk.

Sephiroth's voice caused Vincent to break his stare, "Tseng, you may begin your report." He ordered.

Tseng shoved down his annoyance, and forced his eyes to settle upon Sephiroth and not the unnerving crimson. "We have found no evidence of Strife's survival, nor of his death. However, there is evidence that Strife may not have embarked on the SOLDIER exams at all."

"What do you mean?"

"The deaths of two gate guards were reported within hours of the cadets' arrival in Junon. The kills showed evidence of prior skill, and were extremely efficient and clean."

"What has this to do with Cloud?"

"Given Strife's prior history it is possible he was the killer. The motive is unclear, but the guarded gate was opened by the killer. It was a pedestrian gate leading down to the old village, but no sign of Strife has been found in that area either."

"What do you mean by prior history?" Vincent questioned.

"I had the ex-SOLDIER cadets questioned concerning Strife. Two of the cadets claimed Cloud killed three men in the slums a few months back."

"Did they give a reason for the deaths?" Sephiroth asked.

"They said the men had attacked them, and Strife killed the men to rescue them. Apparently he killed all three men in a matter of seconds with only a knife. All clean efficient deaths with little struggle."

"And you believe Cloud killed the two guards in Junon?" Vincent spoke up again.

"The evidence is not sufficient to conclude that, but it is a possibility. The question is why? And where is he now if he did?"

Silence fell over the three men, and then, "Are you returning to Junon?" Vincent asked.

Tseng glanced towards Sephiroth. The unfilled promise hung between them. Tseng had not yet done his best in the General's opinion, and Sephiroth had not yet accepted the boy's death. "It seems so."

"I shall accompany you." Tseng raised a slender brow at Vincent's words. "When do you leave?"

"Now," Sephiroth answered for the Turk, and Tseng had to suppress his annoyance again.

….

Tseng watched Vincent as the other maneuvered the safety belt with a golden claw. Tseng itched to know what had happen to the former dead Turk, but a cold stare was all he had gotten out of the man thus far.

Red eyes suddenly locked with his, telling Tseng he had been caught staring, but he couldn't tear his gaze away. In the short time he'd already spent with the Turk (ex?), he'd noted the flawless way the man moved, the hyper-awareness the man possessed, constantly scanning his surroundings, measuring the threats, all without giving a hint of his awareness to the untrained eye. Tseng had noted the cool, blank expression Valentine wore like a second skin (probably the most impressive mask he'd ever encountered). Valentine was perfect in all the ways that mattered to a Turk. He was a deadly weapon, molded into the highest caliber of Killer. Vincent Valentine, whether he wore a blue suit or no, was a Turk to the bone.

Tseng remembered his first impression of a Turk in the form of Veld, his old mentor and Valentine's old partner. It had been beautiful to watch Veld in motion, the way he walked, the way he'd wrangle valuable information out of a target with a few practiced, well-placed hits that left them shivering and screaming upon the floor, the way he'd worn the face of Turk inside and out, been the job, breathed the job, mastered the job, until he _was_ the job.

Vincent Valentine held all the mystery proper for a Turk of his class (the very highest), and all the danger too.

As Tseng wrapped his hands about the chopper's controls, tearing his eyes away from the man riding beside him, he couldn't deny his curiosity had been peaked. As had his admiration. He was used to being the best now that Veld was gone (no, no, he wouldn't think of that, stuff it down, down, down into the chain-locked mental box). He didn't measure himself in terms of SOLDERs, he wasn't concerned if he wasn't the strongest man alive. His bar was subtler, and all the more tasking and unattainable for it. He'd been the best Turk, the best assassin, probably the best killer the world around….until now. Now he wasn't so sure he out-classed Valentine, and that was both an aggravating and comforting thought.

He couldn't stop his eyes from sliding back over to his silent companion again as the chopper lifted off. It was an almost irresistible pull of intrigue. Who was Vincent Valentine? He wasn't fool enough to lie to himself. He was drawn to the man. It was dangerous, and exhilarating, and something he was determined to master. When the eyes as bright and cold as gems met his again, he knew it was going to be a long trip.


	16. Chapter 16

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 16

SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair

Zack stood still for a long moment outside Lazard's office, feeling the hallow place in his soul once filled by dreams. First Class had been his dream, one more step along the road to a hero, and now he had it and it was empty and meaningless. He thought of the old Zack, the one who would have flung himself at his mentor and friend, a bundle of bouncing joy and ecstatic grins. There was no smile lifting his lips now, and he was utterly alone.

Zack clenched his jaw, his feet carrying him forward towards the training rooms. He wanted to escape the emptiness of broken promises. He wanted to hack into some training dummies and forget the bitter taste of splintered dreams. Angeal was almost lost, dying a slow decaying death. Cloud was dead, and Kunsel still searching for a body everyone but Sephiroth knew would never be found.

Zack bit down on his tongue, forcing down the lump building in his chest. The day he and Sephiroth had returned from Junon, over three weeks ago, Zack had cried helpless, icy tears alone in his bed. Alone. That was how he had felt these last few weeks. Alone while his own mind preyed upon him, punishing him for his selfishness. They were all alone. He had failed miserably in his task of consoling Sephiroth; the man isolated himself, shunning Zack and anyone else who dared crawl to close. Sephiroth was a block of ice, terrifying in the utter lack of emotions. Everything about his appearance was perfect, save for the growing waxy-ness of his skin, and dead eyes. Even these signs of the General's grief were only noticeable to those who looked, and they were few.

Zack hardened his eyes, even as Sephiroth's stubborn aloofness cut deep. Just as Zack felt the sting of shame at the loneliness, he also knew how equally selfish this surge of abandonment was. He was not the one dying, or dead. He was not the one who had lost their lover. But he had lost a friend in Cloud. He wanted to believe Angeal could yet be saved, but it became harder and harder to cling to this hope as the weeks rolled by. Angeal had been more of a father to him then his own had ever been. He seized the scattered hope Cloud had given him with the possibility of a cure for his mentor. He wished he could go back to that moment and demand more answers, but the one who held them was lost now forever.

Zack's feet led him to one of the main training facilities. The smaller ones were used for specializations, but these larger rooms held a variety of training equipment, and were the only ones containing the dummies he planned on annihilating. His long sword was a comfortable weight on his back. It was strange how much unexpected calm could be gained from the cool touch of a leather handle against his neck; at least this had not changed. He wondered when he would receive First Class missions, and his new black uniform. He hoped being the only other First Class would throw him into Sephiroth's path more often, but then, if the man was going to treat him with cold indifference, he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted more of Sephiroth's attention.

The room was only sparsely occupied by a few other SOLDIERs. Zack knew all their names, there were now less than fifty SOLDIERs after half their number had defected with Genesis. Zack had never known the First personally, but he had been as much enchanted with the ex-commander as the rest of SOLDIER. General Sephiroth was a distant leader, one to be admired from afar. After finally meeting the man, Zack had discovered Sephiroth's distant manner was due to a lack of social understanding, rather than arrogance. But even though most of SOLDIER had thought their General arrogant, he had still been practically worshiped, and well respected. Those who survived Wutai were the closest to Sephiroth. He had led them to a magnificent and brutal victory, and gained their undying loyalty.

Commander Rhapsodos, however, was truly arrogant in every sense of the word, but he had had an undeniable and intoxicating charm. He was flamboyant, and given to dramatics, but the SOLDIERs loved him for it. Zack had heard him speak only a handful of times, and he knew Genesis was one of the most charismatic men he had ever met. The passion and conviction in every word was addictive. It was really no surprise Genesis had mesmerized so many SOLDIERs, and convinced them to defect. Zack wondered how many of those SOLDIERs were left, and if they were anything but mindless clones now. What promises and honeyed words had Genesis whispered to them? Or had they already been so disillusioned with the company they had sold their bodies and souls too, that it took little persuasion to gain their allegiance?

A few months ago Zack would not have understood the motivation behind the defection, now though, all his innocent naivety had been stripped away, and still he wondered if there were not more hidden layers to Shinra's corruption. Shinra was like a rotting onion, every layer peeled off produced more of the sickly sweet scent, choking Zack's lunges. Every new secret bared was more corrupted then the last.

A flash of silver drew Zack's attention. Sephiroth was pounding into a heavy punching bag. Sweat ran down his pale chest in twisting rivulets. His slender hands were wrapped in protective tape, his hair pulled high, whipping about his rippling back like crushed ice.

Zack only hesitated for a moment before approaching his commanding officer. "General, sir?" He felt unnaturally nervous.

He had barely spoken to Sephiroth over the last few weeks, but he had had seen Sephiroth at his most vulnerable, something neither of them was likely to forget. They had slept side by side on the few nights Sephiroth had actually taken rest on those dark days of desperate searching. And for all that, Zack did not know if Sephiroth would call him friend, or shove him among the ranks of other human beings Sephiroth hardly acknowledge, and never trusted.

Sephiroth's eyes slid over him, just as empty as Zack remembered, two pools of mirrored jade. A heavy pause and then, "I told you to call me Sephiroth, Zackary."

Zack nodded mutely, forcing himself to maintain the unnerving gaze which now lacked the sharp fire of life.

"Has Lazard already given you the news?"

"Yes," Zack felt his brow knit, and he forced out the expected words. "It's an honor."

Sephiroth fell into silence again, studying him. "You are not happy. It's an accomplishment you should be proud of."

"I am… it's just," Zack's lashes hid the turmoil of his thoughts, "A lot has happened, and I…I always thought Angeal…" his voice trailed off.

Zack did not look up, but somehow the silence was not uncomfortable, rather, Zack sensed some of Sephiroth's tension ease, a bit of his thick armor yielding. Finally, "He would have been proud of you." Sephiroth's voice was little more than a breath, but Zack's enhanced hearing had no trouble catching it.

"Sephiroth, could we talk?" Zack grasped at the momentary thawing, though it was as futile as trying to hold the wind. Sephiroth's spine went ridged, his eyes turned to fridge steel. Zack hurried on, "About Angeal," _not Cloud, never Cloud._ "_He_ told me about your cells, and I…I just want…I may not be much help, but I have to…I have to help save Angeal…please."

The hard line of Spehiroth's mouth softened. "Very well, but not here."

Zack nodded eagerly, "Where would you prefer?"

"Zackary, do you understand how dangerous this knowledge is? Did Cl… you must not speak of this with _anyone_."

"I understand."

Sephiroth nodded, "You may accompany me to my quarters then; we will not be overheard there."

Zack quickly covered his astonishment, Sephiroth's apartment! He'd never imagined _he_ would ever be invited there. Sephiroth wiped off his dripping face with a towel, and pulled on a plain white T-shirt which quickly soaked up the lingering sweat, molding itself to the curve of his spine.

Zack had never seen Sephiroth out of his customary altered First uniform of black leather, and he had to scold himself for noticing the way the thin fabric clung to Sephiroth's frame. And how low the loose black sweats hung on slim hips. Zack was not in the habit of noticing male beauty, but Sephiroth was the exception, as he had told Kunsel and Cloud what seemed a lifetime ago.

Sephiroth was beautiful. His perfection rivaled that of many of the handsomest women alive, and yet even with some feminine features, Sephiroth's masculinity was still strong enough to save him from a comparison to female beauty. The corners of his lips were too sharp, his jaw to hard, his nose devoid of the cute softness of a women's. Sephiroth's beauty made its own perfection, and yet for all that beauty it was a cold, unattainable perfection. Zack found himself wondering if Sephiroth's pale cheek would be cool and hard like a marble sculpture to the touch. Zack was beginning to grasp what Cloud had meant to such a man. Sephiroth's perfection and dominating presence caused others to pick self-consciously at their own clothing, worrying hands smoothing over ruffled hair, hypersensitive to their own imperfections. It was not a comfortable feeling, and people either avoided individual's like Sephiroth who highlight their faults, or else tried to lower them to their own level. Tearing down what was untouchable, soiling it, using it until the beauty broke and was crushed into dirt by hatful, envious heels.

When Sephiroth pushed open his apartment door, Zack was greeted with the most Spartan private rooms he'd ever encountered. There was nothing but white walls, hard steel, and black leather. Zack was thankful when Sephiroth bypassed the sole sofa in favor of leading Zack towards a small kitchen table. It would have been awkward to sit so close to the General, and even if the tiny table squeezed them into a smaller space, it was less intimate then a couch.

Zack took the seat opposite Sephiroth, and tried not to fidget. There was nothing to distract himself with. It seemed the only color in the room was the green of Sephiroth's eyes which were now staring fixedly at him.

"Firstly, I would like you to tell me what you know about Angeal's condition." Zack couldn't help feeling like this was more of an interrogation then a casual conversation between friends.

"Well…" he cleared his throat nervously, before hitching a smile on his lips. It felt completely out of place in the stark room, but Zack was good at pretending ease if he had too. He lent back in his chair, shaking off his stiff posture.

Zack let the smile drop before shaping the heavy words, but it had served its purpose and given him that extra boost of confidence he needed. He was alone with the General, in the General's apartment, who wouldn't be nervous? "I know he's suffering from degradation, which is the result of something called Jenova, though I don't know what that is. Some sort of disease or virus? When I last saw Angeal and Genesis, Genesis had aged about twenty years and had also mutated. He had a black wing, which you probably already know, but Cloud," he cringed inwardly, hoping Sephiroth would not react poorly to the forbidden name. Sephiroth's cool mask never slipped, though that meant nothing. "He said Angeal would also develop a wing if the degradation were not stopped. He said your cells could save them though, but I am not sure how or why, he never elaborated."

"My cells have the possibility of saving them, but it is not guaranteed." Zack's heart skipped painfully at that. Sephiroth continued, "Jenova…perhaps it would be easiest, and safest if you understood her to be a virus. Once an individual is injected with her cells they either accept them as my body has, or reject them as Genesis and Angeal's have done."

"You have Jenova cells too? But then, why are you healthy while they are dying?"

"That is complicated, and I am not going to explain it all to you, I do not even know myself. But it is for this reason that my cells may be of some help to them."

"How did they become infected with the virus?"

"We were all injected with Jenova cells."

"But why?" Zack asked in confusion.

"Why?" Sephiroth sighed softly, his eyes falling to study his clenched hands. "Because Shinra is greedy, because it doesn't care about human life, only power and money. Shinra thought they could develop more powerful SOLDIERs by using Jenova cells, and maybe they have."

Another layer of the onion was stripped away, and Zack felt like puking. "Shinra experimented on all of you then? Human experimentation." It was not a question, though Zack wished Sephiroth would deny it, but the scrolled mouth did not respond to Zack's silent pleading.

Neither broke the leaden silence. The weight of the truth was too horrendous.

Finally, "Then we have to find them!" Zack was already half out of his chair, his mind dizzy from the rush of knowledge and the sudden sharp edge of urgency cutting into him.

Sephiroth laid a hand on his shoulder, firmly pushing him back down. "We are not going to find them if they do not wish to be found, and Shinra will not give either of us leave to hunt for them, not until they decided to order their deaths."

Anger flared up in Zack, anger and desperation and despair. He could not lose Angeal, he could not bear it. "You were quick enough to leave everything to look for Cloud! When did you start caring what Shinra would and would not allow? They experimented on them, on you! How can you just let this go, I thought they were your friends?" Zack spat.

Sephiroth withdrew his hand as if scorched. The mirrored eyes reflected nothing, only the tightening of skin about eyes and mouth betrayed what the other man was feeling, and it was impossible to read. Zack's anger died as quickly as it had ignited, and he felt like cutting his own tongue out. "Sephiroth, I… I am sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I…I am just so…" his eyes slid away, ashamed. "I am sorry."

"Cloud," it was the first time Zack had heard Sephiroth say the name since Cloud's death, and the word was salted with pain. "Cloud said they would find us in the end, and I believe that." Sephiroth's face was as hard and sharp as splintered marble.

"What, like they would come to the Shinra tower? That's…hard to believe." Zack's voice was meek, burdened with the weighty shadow of his angry words.

Sephiroth's mouth twisted in a bitter smile, "I would not put it past Genesis. He would make an entrance; he would not wish to be forgotten."

"Um, OK, so they'll come to us, and then…"

"And then I will convince them to accept my cells." Zack noticed the absence of the 'we,' but he only nodded, silently swearing to make Angeal listen this time. He didn't think he could watch Angeal walk away from him again.

"I think it is time you go." Sephiroth's toneless voice cut into his thoughts.

Zack nodded again, and followed Sephiroth to the door. He stood on the threshold, hesitating for a moment. This was not how it was supposed to end. Why couldn't he have thought once before opening his mouth? He closed his eyes and turned back to Sephiroth, not wanting to see the green emotionless pools.

"What I said before, I am really sorry. I was angry, but that's no excuse, and I…I just wanted you to know that." He ended lamely.

When no response came he looked down at his black boots, and turned to leave. A hand brushed his sleeveless arm and he looked back at Sephiroth over his shoulder. The man's eyes were fixed on the place where pale fingers met tanned skin, but no words were spoken. Then the fingers pulled back and Sephiroth gave him a small nod, which Zack understood was a silent acceptance of his apology. Zack left with a nod of his own and the door was shut quietly behind him. He looked back at the door, thinking about the cold room filled with its sole occupant and the ghost of his own unjust words which had probably torn up old wounds.

Zack had been entirely unfair. He had thrown Cloud's death, or disappearance, since Sephiroth had yet to acknowledge Cloud's death, in the man's face. And then demanded how he could still work for the company that would probably have hunted him down like an animal if Sephiroth had dared to leave. And if this was not enough, he had challenged Sephiroth's friendship with the only two people who had ever meant anything to Sephiroth apart from Cloud.

Zack was ashamed, and amazed that Sephiroth could forgive the unjust words. Zack could only hope they did not haunt those isolated rooms. He swore to himself that he would do better. Whatever Sephiroth thought, the man needed a friend now. Maybe Zack wasn't the best choice to fill the void, but he didn't see a lot of other people jumping in line. Whatever his own mistakes, at least he knew he was genuine and actually cared about Sephiroth as a person, which had to count for something.

…

Tseng shrugged off his grimy shirt, setting it next to his discarded jacket, before working on his pant's buckle. He rolled his shoulders tiredly, trying to work some of the kinks out. He was looking forward to a scalding shower. Reno and Rude had been called back to Midgar last week, leaving only Kunsel, himself, and the mysterious Vincent Valentine to search for a non-existent body. Vincent had disappeared the minute they stepped off the helicopter a little over a week ago, and Tseng hadn't seen him since. He wasn't sure if he was frustrated or relieved at the distance.

These were dangerous times; the balance of power was teetering in the Shinra tower. Rufus was busy snaring all the power he could, undermining his father at every step. Rufus was intelligent in a way his father could only dream of being. Where Rupert had built his company on stingy fingers and the backs of better men and women, Rufus was cunning and manipulative, forever searching the weaknesses in others and scheming how to exploit them. But for all Rufus's faults he was not completely heartless, which was how he had garnered the loyalty of the Turks. Or maybe he'd just manipulated them into serving him, loving him more than they could ever love the father who'd treated them like expendable toys.

Rufus valued loyalty more than anything, and he'd learned how to cultivate it. He'd become a master at it, had had to after his early blunders with the Turks. How easily the young teen could have lost their loyalty altogether, but he'd humbled himself, admitted his mistakes, bowed his proud neck and asked for guidance: 'Train me. Show me how to be strong, like you.' Rufus couldn't have found a straighter road into the Turks' hearts.

The job demanded Turks give up their lives to the President, die for him if it came to that. But it was oh so hard to die for one you despised and resented. That resentment could drag at your feet and cost the one who'd created it in those precious spilt seconds of reaction time as you hesitated before flinging yourselves in the path of the bullet marked for the one who'd treated you like dirt.

Rufus had spent his life burnishing his arrogant, heartless exterior. He had learned at an early age that if he did not manipulate and use people, then he would be the one manipulated and used. But underneath the polished façade was a tried young man, tired of masks, and fake smiles, and lies. A young man hungry for change, wanting more than the plastic life he'd been born into, but unable to see beyond the reality of his existence.

Rufus wanted freedom. The freedom to make his own decision, the freedom to mold the city he loved like a slutty mistress to his own vision. Rufus had ambition. He'd been bred on it, and learned to breathe it. Rufus had dreams, no matter how twisted and selfish others found them. But Rufus was stuck in the rut, the obsession, of killing his father. He thought assassination was the only path to true freedom. But Tseng knew if nothing changed when Rufus took the 'throne' then his newfound freedom would be snatched away.

Rufus thought his father had all the power; he didn't understand the shackles that came with the throne. The Company, the Board, the clamoring throngs of needy people, _they_ would break the bird's wings, tying Rufus down to a seat of gilded gold from which he would never escape.

Tseng sighed, slipping out of his pants, silk boxers soon joining them as he stepped towards the hotel bathroom and a much anticipated shower. Tseng understood Rufus better then the young man knew himself. Rufus hid behind the face of spoiled arrogance so well he was in danger of losing himself, but perhaps it would be better if the young man did. When the reality of Rufus's existence came crashing down on his head, and all his little power games unraveled, he would be stripped naked and at the mercy of all that which he wanted to rise above.

Darts of heat pounded into Tseng's back, and he threw back his head, enjoying the well-earned relief. Ebony hair plastered about his face, and he let out a moan of bliss. He savored the temporary privacy, letting himself relax in the absent of heavy eyes. He didn't have to be anyone here. He was just Tseng.

Perhaps Rufus would not be bound to that fate. As the President aged the Company slowly fractured, and the balance of power tipped. Every year the science department wiggled its way into more unchecked power, eating up all it could grasp. At its head was Hojo, who had little support outside of the President, and of course the claim of being the most skilled scientist and the one in charge of the SOLDIER program. But there was a building movement of environmentalists. Their numbers were small still and their voices hushed, but they were there, and they were growing. They worked in secret, most top Shinra executives were not even aware of their existence inside the corporation. They held few positions of power: they were the 'little people.'

But Tseng had learned how many small specks of power gathered together could swing a balance. Anti-Shinra groups also tended to ally themselves with the environmentalists. Wutai rebels, terrorist groups like the persistent AVALANCE, were only a number of the nagging problem of armed resistance to Shinra rule. Tseng was far more familiar with the pulse of the slums then the executives of Shinra, and he made it his business to keep Rufus abreast of tensions, even if the Vice President largely ignored the rising discontent.

With a corporation the size of Shinra there would always be little pockets of individuals crawling towards the top, grasping at the strings of power. Every member of the board had their own group of supporters, everyone eager to push their 'needs.' Rufus was skilled at pitting the vying pockets against each other, and had the Turks to thank for his continued existence. Rufus played a dangerous game, and the foiled assassination attempts against him rose every year as he flexed his imaginary muscles.

In the end though, Rufus would be throw about, and torn to pieces by the power he now tried to harness for his own. Did Rufus really believe his father had freedom? Tseng attributed this ignorance to the lack of relationship between the two men. Tseng was more intimately familiar with Rupert's chains then his own son, and those chains came in the form of a white coat and glinting glasses. Rupert had no one to blame but himself for these particular fetters. He had drunk up the scientist's honeyed words, beady eyes shining at the thought of a Promised Land flowing with Mako. Rupert spent his life basking in imaged power. Fattening himself on the easy comforts of wealth –the choicest food, beautiful women, and a slothful lifestyle –content to gorge on the sweat of others, and in so doing hand the reins of true power over to the likes of Hojo.

The exotic sent of sandalwood filled the bathroom as Tseng washed the filth of the last week's search off him. Kunsel was still down in Junon's ancient fishing village. Tseng had decided to concentrate the search on the murdered gate guards, and the possibility of Strife following some hidden objective and deviating from the SOLDIER exam. If the boy had been killed during the exam, well, there would be no body by this time. The monsters would have gnawed even the bones down to dust. Either way, Tseng did not expect any results. If Strife had killed the guards, he had long since vanished without a trace, but Tseng kept looking, if only for the chance to keep his head when Sephiroth finally accepted the Cadet's death.

Tseng sighed, his thoughts wandering to the General. Now there was an unexpected power play. If Sephiroth concentrated on politics and less on avoiding everything to do with it, and people in general, he would be a force to be reckoned with. However, Tseng suspected the unchallenged influence of Hojo was a major part of Sephiroth's disinterest. Sephiroth was fortunate the scientist had disappeared into one of his many hidden labs these last few weeks, and probably hadn't even heard of his prized experiment's brief disappearance.

Tseng shut off the soothing stream and twisted out his shoulder length hair, before wrapping a towel about his waist. He decided to leave the heavy thoughts in the bathroom, and stepped back into the dark bedroom. His only concern now was collapsing on the bed and catching some much needed sleep. Tseng flipped on the bedside lap, a soft glow splitting the blackness and revealing the waiting figure.

Tseng was secretly proud when he managed to contain his jump of surprise, and only lifted a dark eyebrow at the scarlet cloaked intruder. "Valentine, you could have knocked."

Crimson eyes took in Tseng's half naked state, the pale oval revealing nothing. "My apologies, I will return at a more appropriate time."

"No wait," Valentine was already melting into the shadows. How did he do that? "Just give me a moment. I would like to hear if you've discovered anything."

Tseng turned his back to the ex-Turk, forcing his face into blankness. He'd be damned before he relieved just how unnerving it was to feel those unnatural eyes on his naked back. He'd fooled plenty of people before with his mask of arrogant confidence. He could fool one more.

He pulled out a clean pair of boxers and slacks, and keeping his back to Valentine casually dropped the towel. He pretended nonchalance, while inwardly cringing at the bold display and cursing the little boy inside him that could never quite forget who and what he'd been before he'd put on the suit.

(Pretty little thing aren't cha?)

(Look at that boy, filthy as an animal, but you can't expect better from bastards.)

(Don't go near that one, son, he's the whore's boy. The seed of sin. As ditty as the blood in his veins.)

(Fuck, look at the little slut, you're lovin it! I knew you would, your mama's such a good whore. I've put this in her a time or two, how does it taste? Good huh, remembers the feel of your mama's cunt.)

Swallow it down now, down, down, down into the darkness of the box, and padlock it too. Don't let them out, the memories. They don't matter now. You're the fucking Director of the Turks, pull it together. He's looking at you, right at you, there, you can feel his eyes travel the arch of your spine (don't think about those rough, big hands that had run the same cobbled path so long, long ago in Wutai).

He was Tseng the Turk now, not the whore's son, the bastard. The mark burned on his forehead and he could almost remember the pain of the fire-brand putting it there. He didn't pull on a shirt before he turned to face the waiting man, though his skin itch where it lay exposed to another's eyes.

He pretended though, like he always pretended with the other Turks when a mission had forced them to change attire in each other's presence, or administer medical aid with the touch of bare skin against bare skin. He pretended it didn't repulse him when they touched him (Was that a caress? Did their fingers linger just a little too long? Were they checking him out or just checking on his wounds? So hard to tell, it all got so twisted in his head until everything, every look, every casual, clinical touch_ meant_ something). And even as he shied from the touches within his mind, his body, starved from the years and years and years of neglect it had suffered, leant irresistibly in.

The memories of the past never let him accept another's touch willingly.

It was fucked up, and confused the hell out of him. It didn't make sense to need and hate something at the same time. But he was a Turk and they had a tendency to be fucked up.

When he turned around he saw that Valentine had occupied himself with a dull hotel picture, as if he hadn't been watching Tseng dress. Suppressing a grimace, Tseng settled casually on the sole bed and only seat in the room. He tossed his hair out of his eyes, a false smirk on his lips as he watched Vincent's wine-red eyes follow the movement. He steeled himself against the impulse to cringe away.

Tseng waited for Valentine to break the silence, and finally the other did. "I have been unsuccessful, as yet, locating Cloud. I find it suspicious that the guards were murdered within an hour of the cadets' arrival, but have found nothing of significance pointing towards Cloud's continued existence."

"Hum, Kunsel and I have uncovered nothing new either. Kunsel is still searching the fishing village, but I doubt he will discover anything."

Valentine nodded curtly, "What is your opinion on Strife's survival?"

Tseng looked the man in the eye, "If Strife is still alive, which I highly doubt, then he does not wish to be found for whatever reason, and has long since abandoned Junon."

Valentine was silent, not offering his own opinion, and Tseng did not press for one. "The two other Turks left."

"Yes, they were recalled to Midgar," Tseng let a small sigh escape his lips. "The Company can hardly afford to station three Turks to what, all but Sephiroth, believes a fruitless mission. Rufus is only allowing me to stay because he is aware of the understanding between Sephiroth and myself."

"I see," came the flavorless reply.

Tseng ran an eye over the man seated next to him. How different his appraisal had been with the barrier of clothes between them. He hated what he perceived as his weakness. He thanked Gaia Veld had never suspected the young man he'd been training as his replacement was terrified of intimate human contact. Such a chink in his armor would have been an unacceptable flaw.

Tseng had managed to dodge most of the mission requiring a more 'personal' touch, though not all. He remembered the way his skin crawled when he'd kissed and fondled the breasts of a Wutinese noble woman. He'd succeeded in seducing the information on the location of the top secret Wutainese fortress out of her, but found himself taking multiple long, burning showers after.

He'd been clumsy and impossibly shy and it had only been thanks to the woman's turn-on at his inexperience that he'd saved the mission. Afterwards, he'd taken himself to the Honeybee and forced himself to fuck one of its whores. He'd be damned if he couldn't overcome this! But he hadn't, not after one awkward, clinical fuck, not after five, ten…he'd given up, unable to stomach anymore in the face of no progress.

He'd known others who'd been 'used' (not raped, don't say it, gods, not him, not_ him_) as children. He wasn't even the only Turk with it in their past. So, why, why, why couldn't he get over this like Reno had? Reno who ran after tail like a bitch in heat and didn't have a self-conscious bone in his body? It had only been the few times, mostly it had just been derogatory words thrown out with the occasional spit wad or kick for good measure. Why did the past keep haunting him like this? Why was he so fucking weak?

He sliced the thoughts up and punched them into the hidden corners of his mind. He was control. He was untouchable. He was the dagger in the shadows. He was above this, passed this.

He was yanked from his thoughts when Valentine gave him a mute nod, and Tseng realized the man was about to slip back into the shadows. He was both relieved and disappointed at the abrupt departure. Valentine was still the man he'd ridden to Junon with, still as full of unraveled mysteries, but Tseng was content to let him go. Let them meet again on more even footing, when Tseng wasn't feeling so exposed and vulnerable. He'd need all his wits about him if he wanted to peel back all the shrouds Valentine had layered himself in.

Tseng had turned away from the window through which the silent gunner had disappeared, and was just making his way across the room, intent on pulling on the shield of his suit, when a clawed hand wrapped about his arm like a bar of iron. Before he had a chance to react, Tseng found himself flung through the air to land face down upon the hotel bed with the heavy weight of a knee pressing into his back.

He struggled under the impressive weight, trying to twist his head around to get a look at his attacker, but a clawed hand caught in his hair, pushing his face back into the mattress.

He couldn't breathe. The heavy bed's comforter blocked his nose, restricting the air he could suck in through a desperate mouth. The person/creature holding him down laughed as his struggle intensified. Tseng couldn't believe this was happening. He was a Turk for crying out loud! He shouldn't be so helpless, but he was. He was suffocating, the edges of his vision darkening, and there wasn't a thing he could do to save himself.

He passed out with the sounds the wild laughter in his ears. It didn't sound the least bit human.

Tseng came too without the natural haziness of a normal human. His trained mind immediately began cataloging his injuries and assessing the situation. Other than a slight soreness in his back he appeared to be uninjured. That was good, but the bonds holding his hands above his head were not so lucky.

Tseng was lying on the hotel bed he'd passed out upon, his hands tied in strong bonds of what felt like cloth. Good. With a little work he might be able to break them. His eyes lingered on his gun, sitting across the room on the night table he'd left in on when he'd come out of the shower. He'd been a fool. Distracted by the perceived weakness Valentine's presence and his own nakedness had roused in him. He'd been careless. If he hadn't been so worried about not appearing vulnerable he could have shrugged on his shirt and gun holster, and maybe had a chance against the beast that had…

A shadow within the shadows of the room moved. If Tseng's blood hadn't already been pumped full of adrenaline, it would be now, he thought as he watched the creature that emerged from the pocket of unlight. The beast was disturbingly human in appearance, and the gold-velvet eyes that stared back at Tseng, though resembling those of a wolf, held a keen intelligence. It walked upon two legs like a man and had two human shaped arms, though these ended in black claws. The most obvious sign of its inhumanity were the two bat-like wings sprouting from its back.

Tseng swallowed as the creature continued to approach. When it spoke its voice was a strange blend of many, deep, commanding, reminding him a bit of Valentine's rich-smoothness, but with a rougher, more animalistic undertone. "I have been watching you mortal."

Tseng didn't know how to respond, or even if he should. Turk training would have him clamming up in a situation like this, but then, he'd never heard of a monster interrogating a human for information.

The creature cocked its head, the strange red feathers that might have been hair, waving softly with the movement. "You like watching my vessel," it said.

Tseng's face remained expressionless, though inside his mind was running fast and furious like a swelling mountain stream, trying to discern the creatures meaning, its intent, and the possible ways of escape.

The creature moved with impossible speed, so quickly it defied the tracing of the human eye, and suddenly it was across the room crouching above Tseng on the bed with one clawed hand digging into Tseng's jaw as it tilted the Turk's face up. It examined him for a long moment as Tseng struggled not to let an ounce of the fear coiled in his gut spill onto his face.

"You have no idea," the creature said as a feral smile cracked its face.

Tseng's jaw clench as he suppressed the urge to snarl at the beast. Relieve nothing. You have no rage, no hope, no pain. Control. Control. Control.

The beast's amusement abruptly dissolved and it bend over Tseng until their faces were inches apart. Tseng could smell the rage knitted into its skin. "I really_ hate_ humans." The creature hissed. "You just have to control everything, pick it apart piece by piece until you _understand._ Then put it back together again with your own 'superior' knowledge. And you know what I really, really hate?" The monster continued. "Scientists."

The beast abruptly lent back, giving Tseng room to breathe again as it released its grip on his face. Its golden eyes were hooded now as it said, "Vincent feels the same you know." It threw out casually, and Tseng felt its amusement when he couldn't quite conceal his surprise at the statement. "Oh, didn't you know?" The creature asked with faux innocence. "Vincent and I, we share _so_ much in common. And who do we have to thank for this? You. Shinra,"

The beast's claw shot out to wrap about Tseng's throat in a bruising grip. "I know you know where Hojo is, Shinra. You are going to tell me. Now."

Tseng jerked in the monster's hold as the claws tightened, chocking him. But even as he was once again slowly suffocated, his mind didn't stop shifting over everything the creature had said. Valentine had some connection to this thing, as did Hojo. Tseng would have given up the scientist's location in a heartbeat if he knew it. He hated the crooked scientist as much as the next man, anyone who'd seen what that monster in human clothing was capable of doing, would.

"I don't…know," he rasped out.

"Liar!" The creature spat, tightening its death grip.

"…don't…" Tseng gasped.

Then suddenly the beast's shape was shifting, its towering height shrinking, the red feathers melting into long hair that swooped about their bent heads like a dark nightmare. The claws at his neck became one, the leathery skin smoothing into cold metal. And then Tseng could breathe because Valentine was throwing himself away from Tseng's chocking figure, the red irises more expressive then Tseng had ever seen them as the stared at him in shock and horror.

Tseng massaged his bruised throat, gulping in air. "W-what? What…was that…thing?" Valentine didn't answer, still staring mutely, gaze transfixed upon Tseng's throat. Tseng tried to piece what had just happen together. "Where?" He croaked, his brown eyes slowly rising to rest on Valentine's red ones as the reality of what he'd seen slammed into him. "You?"

Valentine's gaze slid away then, darting off into the shadows, his face dipping beneath his red cloak. "I am…sorry." Valentine whispered, his voice sounding like it had been forced through a load of boulders in the gunman's chest. "I did not mean…I lost control."

"You lost control," Tseng repeated slowly, unbelievingly. "That thing…you, nearly killed me. Twice."

"I…" jeweled eyes darted to him before shying away again. "It was not…me. It was…Chaos. He...is his own being."

"And how exactly was it using your body?" Because Tseng wasn't slow enough not to realize the thing, monster, _had_ been Valentine in a sense.

Valentine was silent a long moment, and then, "Hojo." And the word held so much complex, all-consuming hate that it trembled in the air like the flight of a bird fighting against a winter gale.

Well. That explained everything, and nothing.

"I do not know where Hojo is. I would tell you if I did. I swear it." Tseng said, his voice quite but steady, trying to convey his honesty.

Valentine flicked a glance at him, before giving a non-committal 'hum.' Tseng didn't know if he'd been trusted or not. "I'd best go," Valentine said finally. "I don't usually…lose control like that, but...Chaos, he was very angry, and—" Whatever else Valentine was going to add was cut off when his eyes flashed gold again.

Tseng cursed the gunman as he pulled at the bonds still holding him strapped down to the bed. Valentine's form didn't shift though, but the eyes, the eyes were defiantly that of the creature's.

Chaos pounced. Tseng gasped as the weight of the gunman landed upon him, the cruel metal of the gauntlet scraping along his bare chest. Chaos growled, "You are a filthy liar. You know where Hojo is hiding. _I know it_."

Tseng forced himself to sneer up at the monster, "I told you. I. Don't. Know."

Instead of renewing his assault upon Tseng's neck, the creature pulled back, its too-bright eyes staring down at Tseng. Tseng fought the urge to turn away from Chaos's dissection; logic told him the beast was determining the best way to break him. He could do this. It wasn't like he'd never been tortured for information before (both in training and out).

He was not prepared for Chaos's chosen method of attack.

The creature in Valentine's body sunk down on top of him until Valentine's hair curtained them and Tseng could feel all the wiry muscles of the gunman's strength. Smooth lips brushed against his ear in an entirely too intimate touch as Chaos whispered in his ear in the parody of a lover, "I see you. I know what it is you fear."

And then, with that ominous warning, the creature wearing Valentine's skin crashed their lips together. It was brutal, a clash of teeth and tongue, and completely domineering. Tseng felt bile rise in his throat even as he felt himself respond. It was humiliating, disgusting, and stirred something primal within him, something bent and more twisted even then the memories that had always, always held him back before. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be touched and taken by this…monster, not even human. But he did want. Something rose in him at the pure dominance of the creature, something that had never stirred when he'd forced himself to have sex with those painted prostitutes and touch their submissive, soft flesh. He responded to the brutal control in the creature's touch.

Tseng liked to think he chafed under the collar of control Shinra held him under. But he was only deluding himself. The truth was, he loved the way his mind emptied when The Order came. He loved living from target to target, job to job, kill to kill. It was clean and sharp and white as a bone. The simplicity of such a life was everything he craved. He _needed_ the simplicity, the loss of question, of decisions, when all there was was The Order. He lives for that moment when he can cut off his conscious and just Be. When all that's left is the cool power of the gun in your hand, the steady rhythm of the breath in your lungs, and the target in your sights.

It's frightening to realize how much he craves that moment, so he doesn't, hasn't, until now when he's forced to look it in the face as a monster takes complete control over him and he realizes a part of him craves this.

And Chaos sees, just as he'd looked into the human's heart and seen the fear, now he saw the pleasure too. Chaos pulls back to look down at the human man beneath him. He notes the way the almond shaped eyes have glazed, their pupils expanding. He's curious. He's looked into his human's mind and seen many things, memories of days long gone by and disgusting fantasies about the human woman who had never valued Vincent who was both Chaos's prison and his fellow prisoner.

Chaos bent down again to taste the human, gentler this time, exploring, but as assertive as ever. It was the demon's nature to overpower. Vincent was fighting in the back of his mind, trying desperately to regain control, yelling at Chaos to stop. Didn't Vincent see how much the Shinra was enjoying this, willingly or no? And what did Chaos care? He was Chaos, the Harbinger of Death. He was destruction and discord. For this he had been made.

When Valentine's human hand slipped below the waistband of Tseng's pants, Tseng couldn't help arching into the touch, even as he snarled up at the creature. He refused to give in to these sick desires. He hated being touched. Loathed it. Always. Forever. And yet, and yet…

Chaos pulls his hand away finally, but only to loosen the fastenings on Valentine's trousers. Tseng was filled with dread, his bones shacking with it. He can't. He can't. Don't make me. And then Chaos is giving The Order, 'suck,' and Tseng's mind goes blissfully blank and he lets out a little contented sigh. He doesn't have to fight any more. Doesn't have to think. Just do as he's been told and it will all be over soon. He takes Valentine's cock into his mouth and sucks like a good little dog.

It's sick. It's oh so wrong, and thank Gaia he's not getting off on this anymore. The erection Chaos's ministrations had forced out of him has waned as he pleasures the monster; at least he has that small dignity left. Chaos uses Valentine's human hand to comb through Tseng's wet hair, and Tseng can't help but lean into the surprisingly gentle touch. (Don't touch me, never, ever again….feels so good, when was the last time someone touched him like this? So long. Please stop. Don't stop.)

Chaos is surprised by the intensity of the climax as he rides it down Tseng's throat. He'd not realized how powerful one was, even after watching Vincent's memories. He feels strangely sated even though he'd not gotten the information he'd been looking for. Maybe another day…there was always time to hunt for the cockroach Hojo later. For now though, he was feeling extremely sleepy...

The spent cock slipping from Tseng's mouth yanked him from the numbness his mind had been rejoicing in. Valentine was still on top of him and he felt as the gunman's whole body seemed to shudder in exhaustion before collapsing against Tseng.

"Tseng?" The voice was shaky with weariness and disorientation.

Tseng didn't reply, merely staring blankly at the ceiling. He hadn't…it wasn't like he'd been raped after all. It wasn't like he'd never lived through this before, so why the fuck did he feel so stretched and worn? He traced the cracks in the ceiling, telling himself to pull it together, do _something_, snap out of it! But he felt so very very tired.

Valentine had finally hauled himself off Tseng, and Tseng could feel those red eyes staring down at him.

Get a grip! You're a Turk, the Director of the Turks! So you gave a guy a blow job? Big deal! It didn't have to mean anything. He could still patch this up if he could just place that cocky smirk on his face again and pretend he sucked strange men off all the time. Just get up, brush your shoulders off, drop some dry humor and saunter out the door like you know how much they want you.

Valentine was silently slicing the bindings still holding Tseng's wrists with his gauntlet claw. And still staring down at Tseng. What the fuck are you looking at? Never had a guy put your cock in his mouth? I'll admit the demon inhabiting your body added some real spice, but hey, I can be a kinky guy.

"I…" Valentine thankfully didn't try to apologize for his demon rap—_using _Tseng's mouth. In fact, the man didn't seem to be able to speak at all.

Tseng finally found the will to move, and rolled out of the bed, his naked feet landing on the soft carpeted floor. Strange. It felt like things like this should only happen in creepy hotel rooms where the plaster's peeling off the walls. With a calm he didn't feel he walked over to his gun (you fucking idiot! You call yourself a Turk and then leave your weapon lying around? You should just put the barrel to your temple and put an end to your patheticness!).

He calmly slipped it into his waistband. He still had his back to Valentine, but he could feel those eyes on him still. (Stop fucking _looking_ at me! I can't bare it, can't bear to feel the places you're hands touched. They feel dirty, gods, disgusting. They're so cold without your skin next to mine).

"Tseng I'm…I can't begin to—"

And then Tseng was bolting for the bathroom door. (Shut up Valentine! Don't you know this never happened? Why can't you just leave?). He made it to the toilet before he spilled his guts, but just barely. He retched until there was nothing left and then kept retching. Over and over and over again he dry heaved, trying to get the shape of cock out of his mouth, the taste the smell, but there were so many and they wouldn't leave him alone. (Little whore, so pretty, just like your mother). And then he could smell urine and knew he'd pissed himself.

When he'd stopped dry heaving the shaking started, and soon it had taken over his whole body. And then he wasn't there anymore, but back in Wutai and that famer, the one who used to come in to town with his load of turnips and visit mama, was touching him, moving inside him, and it hurt so so much, and he didn't understand, why was this happening to him. What had he done wrong? Was it because he was ugly and dirty and nobody wanted him? Not even mama, though sometimes she did; it depended on the day and the roughness of her 'friends' who came to visit. Sometimes, when it had been a good day, she'd come and tuck the wore-out blanket about his too-thin shoulders at night and run her hand though his hair and he would cling to her, because nobody ever touched him like mama did.

And then he was back in his body again and the shaking was reduced to tremors, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten or couldn't feel the calluses of the hands that had bruised his hips as he'd been rap—_used_.

He was suddenly, brutally aware of the presence hovering in the doorframe, watching him. His head snapped around to glare at Valentine. How _dare_ that son of a bitch come in here to stare!

"Tseng—" Valentine started again, but Tseng didn't let him finish. He hated the lost note in the man's voice. What the fuck was his problem? Didn't he have anything more intelligent to say then one word? And who the hell doesn't _leave_ after…after…

"Get out!" He growled.

Valentine backed up, his human hand raised as if he were trying to placate a deranged animal. Tseng smiled at the thought as he turned away, hunching back into himself. It wasn't an entirely sane smile and certainly held the sharp edges of feral.

It fell off his face a moment later though, and he leant his weary head against the cool porcelain of the toilet, not having the energy to care about hygiene at that moment.

(Pull yourself together. You're the Director of the fucking Turks, not some trauma victim! Get over yourself and _deal with this_.)

He didn't have time to be weak. He couldn't afford to be broken. So Tseng drug himself up from the bathroom floor, splashed some cool water over his face, and re-entered the bedroom only to stop dead when his eyes landed on the figure of the man he'd distinctly remembered telling to _get out_.

It wasn't a conscious move, but his fingers settled on the gun still tucked securely in his waistband. This bastard deserved a psychotic Turk shooting at his ass.

Valentine looked up as Tseng entered, his eyes locking on the gun Tseng had aimed at him. Tseng's hand wasn't the least bit shaky. The rather major break down he'd had in the bathroom had nothing to do with this moment: the feel of the cool metal in his hand as the power of executioner rubbed like balm over the patch of wetness he could still feel in his trousers.

"I thought I told you to leave." Tseng's voice was darkly beautiful, the cultured drawl he'd painstakingly developed from years of practice until not even a lilt of a foreign accent was present. He was a Turk now, and to look at the cool aloofness in his face you'd never know he'd been born the son of the village whore in some backwater of a backwards country, growing up in rags and filth with hunger and pain his closest companions.

"I couldn't just leave," Valentine it seemed had pulled himself together as well and was now capable of more than one-syllable words, Tseng thought uncharitably. "I know I can never atone for what Chaos did to you, but you need to know I am sorry. I couldn't control him, I tried to stop…"

Tseng's eyes narrowed. He didn't want an apology. He wanted the man to get the fuck out first, and then, maybe, he wanted a god damn explanation! "So, are you going to tell me exactly how you got that thing in your head?"

"I…" Tseng could read Valentine's reluctance easily, but apparently the gunner thought Tseng was owned an explanation as well, because he continued, "Hojo…experimented on me. I…Chaos…he's not the only one I …carry. It doesn't happen often, the demons wrestling control; usually I am able to control them, but sometimes…" Valentine dropped his face within his cloak, his dark locks hiding his eyes. "They are inside of me…forever."

"So, Hojo had been experimenting on you all these years?" Tseng didn't lower his gun, but he couldn't deny the horror of such an existence. He wasn't about to turn his back on the man, but perhaps it wasn't really Valentine's fault. If anything it was Hojo's for putting monsters inside the man.

"No," Vincent did not elaborate, instead he rose to slightly unsteady feet and Tseng realized battling with the demons must have tired Valentine considerable for the gunman to be unable to hide his exhaustion.

"I…" Valentine looked lost again, flickering glances between Tseng and the window. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Tseng stared at the man a long moment before finally holstering his weapon. His lips pinched together. It would be so much easier to forgive Valentine if the man hadn't seen him broken down in the bathroom, hadn't seen his _weakness_.

But then, was there really anything to forgive? If he hadn't been so unforgivably careless (A Turk never, ever, walks unarmed even for a moment. Stupid, pathetic. You deserved what you got. Strutting around, too worried about your pride to pay attention! Serves you right. It's not like Valentine really _wanted_ you slavering all over his goods and moaning like a needy whore).

Tseng's fingers flexed at his sides. Shut up, shut up. (Good little slut, you don't look half bad on your knees).

Tseng was so lost in the darkness he missed Valentine's first tentative step towards him, but he quickly fastened his eyes on the cautious gunman as Valentine walked slowly forward until he stood within arm's reach of Tseng.

Valentine was too close. Strange, he'd gotten the feeling the man had an outrageous personal bubble. Those jewel-bright eyes were staring down at him and Tseng was shocked to see the concern so easily visible in the usually impassive face.

"Tseng…?" Valentine wasn't one for words was he?

Tseng looked away, staring down at the gunman's gold-tipped boots. His jaw was clenched so tightly a tendon was jumping. (Pull it together. You're pathetic. What would Reno, Rude, _Veld_ say if they could see you now? You're really fucked in the head, aren't you?)

Then Valentine was moving towards him again, the arm's movement was awkward as if Valentine was unpracticed with touching people. Tseng jerked away from the hand trying to land on his shoulder, his fingers already curling back around to seek out his gun. But they stopped when Valentine's hand captured his jaw in a move that startled Tseng. The grip was strong and far too invasive, but oh so controlling, almost possessive the way those fingers dug into his skin, _demanding_ Tseng's attention. 'Look at me' Valentine's hand commanded, jerking Tseng's face up. And Tseng did, helpless against the force of that Order.

He really was fucked in the head.

Tseng couldn't help his flitch, nor the shudder that ran through his body when the leather tightened on his skin and he felt the bones of Valentine's hand pressing into his face. It wasn't an altogether repulsed shudder either. (Damn you Valentine. Damn you and that cursed demon you carry).

Tseng's eyes had fluttered closed sometime during the exchange, his face tilting irresistibly forward into the leather cupping his jaw. He felt the heat of that hand, soaking through the leather and into his skin. So weak. So yielding. So submissive. So needy. It was sickening, and uncontrollable.

Valentine's soft gasp snapped his eyes open again to meet widened red ones. And oh the shame! That Valentine would see this, the utter failing of all Tseng's strength, the ruin of year's worth of control. A part of him hated Valentine for being the witness.

There was no mistaking the fear in Valentine's eyes as he started down at Tseng, transfixed by the man who softened like putty at his touch. Nor was there any doubt of the confusion and concern and guilt, but most of all excitement reflected there too.

Valentine wet his lips, his eyes running over Tseng's face as if memorizing every detail. Tseng snatched his face away from the temping heat. (What was_ wrong_ with him?) This man, or a part of him, had just used Tseng, and here Tseng was panting into his touch like a dog under its master's fingers. Oh, but how he yearned of the gentleness of that now absent touch. It had been unyielding as steel, but oh so careful. When was the last time someone had touched Tseng like that? Wasn't he still human? Didn't he crave what every other human being did, even if it disgusted him at the same time?

He wanted Valentine's fingers against his skin again; hot and brilliant like the kiss of a supernova against Tseng's too-cold skin. He was like a kicked mangy dog, so eager for touch, kindness, companionship, that he'd but his head against the knees of a perfect stranger.

Pathetic. And completely out of control.

"I'm sorry." Valentine dropped his hand abruptly, taking a step back and hiding behind his cloak again.

Tseng twitched. "Just go," he said, but it wasn't unkindly. Maybe he didn't blame Valentine (he'd deserved what he'd gotten after all, hadn't he?), but that didn't mean he wanted to linger in the man's presence. Tseng saw a flash of something like hurt understanding in Valentine's eyes, and realized his aversion to the man's presence must not have been well hidden.

He felt an inexplicable guilt at the realization. What was wrong with him? The man had just attacked him not an hour ago and— but no, it hadn't been Valentine who'd done that to him, but the demon Hojo had implanted within him.

He found his mouth forming an invitation he'd never meant to voice. "Perhaps you should stay, just for a little while. You seem a bit…drained."

A bitter laugh burst from Valentine, startling Tseng. "Do you not understand? They could take over at any moment. You are not safe, not with me, never with me. I'm a monster."

Tseng ground his teeth. Of course he understood that! He was only trying to be….what? Nice? He sneered at the thought. He wasn't a nice person. Valentine could just deal with that. "Fine." He snapped. "You'd better get going then, before you _lose control_ again."

Valentine flinched.

That had been unnecessarily cruel. Tseng sighed. He really was too tired to deal with this right now. "Look. You can stay if you'd like. Don't worry; I'll keep my gun out. If you'd rather leave, then do so." Tseng hesitated before adding, "The next time you come to report give a little warning."

Valentine nodded mutely, his shoulders hunching as he slinked to the window through which he'd come. Tseng didn't try to stop him again. As the red caped figure slipped into the salty night air, disappearing like a breath of air on a summer night, Tseng couldn't help feeling relieved, if a little guilty to see the back of him. And if, when he fell asleep that night, he was plagued by ghost touches, the heat of a palm though leather, the bliss of forfeiting control, and woke up hard with his arms wrapped about himself slowing rocking (if the body couldn't get touch from another, it would make due with its own limbs), he pretended nothing of the kind had occurred in the harsh light of morning.


	17. Chapter 17

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 17

His hand closed over the familiar grip, the leather molded to fit his fingers perfectly from years of use. The weight of the immense sword was nothing, and he easily slid Masamune into the harness on his back before his office door slammed shut behind him. The world flashed in a dizzying flare of blinking red; the emergency lights cutting through the stark white hallways of the Shinra building. People were running about wildly, rumbled suits, hysterical secretaries, panic surfacing in the masses.

Sephiroth was disgusted. Yet another example of Shinra's cocky arrogance; the thought of someone attacking the Tower had never occurred to them, of course. It would have been a genius move on Genesis's part if he wasn't so hopelessly out-numbered. The Turks had already gotten the President into his helicopter, but more interestingly, Rufus had been the first one hustled out of the building, fancy that? No doubt the oversight would be conveniently blamed on Tseng's absence and not the 'misplaced' importance on the Vice President. Sephiroth didn't blame the Turk's skewed loyalties. The President treated everyone but Hojo like shit, so he couldn't expect the Turks to take a bullet for him if he couldn't even give them some simple respect.

However, Sephiroth didn't really care about subtle Shinra politics at the moment, his one hope was finding Genesis before the First completed whatever agenda he had for the Tower. Sephiroth prayed Angeal was here as well. Angeal would be more reasonable, he hoped, and he needed all the help he could garner for the coming conversation.

His PHS buzzed; Sephiroth didn't break from his steady run as he flipped it open. "Lazard, do you have a position for me?"

"The remaining cloned SOLDIER's are leveling heavy fire on the west gate, but Second Class Jamerson is heading the counter attack and he reports light losses. Genesis was sighted on the Science department's floors; First Class Fair is already on his way."

"Very well, contact me immediately with any further sightings."

"General." The line went dead, and Sephiroth bypassed the elevators in favor of using his enhanced speed on the stairs.

The Science Department was only about a dozen floors above his office, and it was bare moments before Sephiroth reached the demolished floor. Clinical tables were overturned, charts and files thrown everywhere; there were even pools of Mako coating the once glossy white tiles. The scientists and lab assistants had scattered, but the scream of blood was splattered against the painfully white walls, and Sephiroth saw more than one body.

_Oh, Genesis, what have you become? _But there was a part of Sephiroth wishing it had been his blade slicing into the scientists, feeling their flesh part like butter before him. It didn't matter that these scientists were not the ones who had strapped him down as a child and done unspeakable things to his helpless body. They wore the white lab coats, and held that pitiless fascination with 'experiments' and 'discoveries.' They were all the same. But entertaining fantasies, while slumped over a toilet and heaving his guts out, was not the same as actually carrying out the hidden desires.

Sephiroth paused as his PHS rang again. "General, Angeal has been sighted at Mako reactor 5. Word just came from the President…you are to terminate them."

Sephiroth closed his eyes, before sinking behind steel walls built from years of hiding, of being forced to hide for the sake of his own sanity. "Understood Director."

"Sephiroth, I am sorry..."

Sephiroth cut in, "I will inform Fair of the standing orders Director." He snapped his PHS shut, forestalling anymore pitying remarks.

He was already moving again when he punched in Fair's number. "Zackary, head to Mako reactor 5…"

"Did you find something out?" Zackary's worried voice broke in.

"Angeal has been sighted."

Zackary let out a frustrated noise, "I thought...have you seen the bodies? They're killing people…unarmed…I thought, Angeal…"

"The President had ordered their termination."

"So its search and destroy?" Zackary didn't try to disguise his fury, though if it was aimed at Sephiroth or Angeal or just Shinra in general, he didn't know.

"Zackary," Sephiroth bit down on his own rising fear; the terror they wouldn't reach them in time. "The army is mobilizing, but there's still time. You and I will find them before they do and…"

"And WHAT!

Sephiroth pulled the phone away, wincing, "…fail to eliminate them."

…

Sephiroth's eyes flew to the ceiling as a splintering crash echoed through the reactor. _Zackary._ He'd sent him to search the upper levels of the reactor; it seemed the First had found his old mentor.

A gaping hole greeted Sephiroth as he reached the top floor, but Zackary was nowhere in sight. A majestic white wing spread from Angeal's back. Sephiroth couldn't suppress a gasp as he caught sight of Genesis for the first time since Genesis had left for Wutai what seemed a lifetime ago. Zackary had said Genesis had aged, but the words had not prepared Sephiroth for the sight of his friend's ravaged form. The evidence of the poisonous Jenova cells infecting his body was painfully obvious. The once vibrant hair now hung lank and dull. Youthful skin was now warped and cracked. Wrinkles rolled over the haughty face, the arrogant mouth pulled down in what Sephiroth imagined was endless pain.

"Where is Zackary?" Sephiroth alerted them to his presence. The air was singed with the backlash of magic, and his gut twisted. _Angeal would never hurt his puppy, would he?_ No, Sephiroth could not believe Angeal would hurt him, no matter what his two friends had become.

Angeal did not meet Sephiroth's eyes, and a twisted smirk curled over Genesis's lips. Genesis pointed at the hole, dark and ominous, like the jaws of a monster, snapping up the fragile hope Sephiroth clung to. _No Angeal, tell me you did not hurt him. How could you?_

But he kept his face impassive, letting none of his growing horror show. "I need to speak with you." He began.

"Oh? Has the mighty Sephiroth taken notice of us lesser beings?" Genesis mocked. "_Three friends go into battle_…"

"Loveless again? You never change." Sephiroth broke in, feeling the familiar stirrings of frustrated anger in Genesis's presence. He had to control himself. He couldn't let Genesis's picking affect him, which was what the other wanted. How easily Sephiroth had managed to forget the last few months of their friendship.

Genesis had always been arrogant, yet it had never bothered Sephiroth. He had his own arrogance when a sword was in his hand. They were both too proud for their own good, but they had been friends, at least he had thought so, but those last few months had been a constant battle for control.

Genesis's mockery and bating had risen to new levels, and Sephiroth had not controlled himself, letting his frustration and pride override common sense. It had led to that fateful spare, the last they ever shared, when even Angeal had had enough of Genesis's haughty words and Sephiroth's self-righteous attitude. Of course, Sephiroth had been bitter at first, seeing every word Angeal dropped as condemning of himself alone. Secretly Sephiroth had always been jealous of how close the other two were. He often felt like an intruder, as if their friendship was a privilege and they didn't need him like he needed them. But then, they hadn't needed him; they had each other, when Sephiroth was forever alone.

Sephiroth clenched down on the thoughts. _It had not been like that. Not really. They had cared, they must have. But then, they had left him without a backwards glance, hadn't they? Enough._

"I know all about the degradation, and I am sure Hollander fed you some lies about being able to stop it…"

Genesis snarled, "Hollander will help us attain Jenova cells, the gift of the goddess. You know _nothing_. You always have to be right, don't you Sephiroth? Always ha…"

"Hollander is lying to you. Hollander_ did_ this to you! Jenova won't save you, it's because you already have Jenova cells that you are degrading. Hollander injected you both with them before you were born…just as Hojo injected me."

There was a pause when even Genesis seemed to hesitate, but he quickly recovered, "Jenova is the gift of the goddess and our salvation…"

"Jenova is a monster. A calamity that fell from the sky 2,000 years ago, she cannot help you."

"Then we will die." Angeal finally spoke, a terrible weariness coating his words.

"Lies," Genesis hissed, ignoring Angeal, his eyes spiting a maniacal fire, "If Jenova truly was a monster, you would be degrading as well! Or maybe you lied about holding her cells?"

"I am not lying, and I don't know why I am not degrading. Hojo…created me differently then Hollander did you…."

"Created?" Angeal demanded.

"Yes. We all had human mothers and fathers, but they experimented on us as fetuses. I was Project S and you were both part of Project G, Project Gillian."

"My mother? But Genesis…"

"…was injected with Gillian's cells, though she was not his birth mother." A leaden weight drug the words down and Sephiroth saw the horror shatter Angeal's eyes, but Genesis seemed determined not to listen.

"No…no…not my mother…not…" Angeal broke away, his hand covering his eyes, and Sephiroth knew this truth was doubly hard for him. Angeal had always been close to his mother, and the betrayal cut deep. But the revelation that Genesis, his lover, held his own mother cells almost as a brother would, tore at every belief Angeal had ever clung to. Where was honor now?

Sephiroth had to act fast to counter the downward spiral, but he had felt they deserved the truth, all of it, however distressing. "There might be hope still. My body accepted the Jenova cells. If I were to give you my cells it might be possible to stop the degradation…"

"How noble of you," Genesis mocked. "Of course _you_ would have the cure in your own body. Superior in mind and body, magically adapting to the cells killing us lesser beings."

"It's not like that," Sephiroth ground out, his control slipping. "I am trying to help you, if you would only listen for once in your life."

"Help us? I can see how much you have helped Angeal." Genesis gestured to the visibly distraught man. "Forgive me of declining your _help_."

"So you would rather rot then accept my help?" Sephiroth shoved his own guilt aside, anger fueling his words, cracking his reason with its reasonless maw. "Can you not look past your own overblown self-importance for one minute?"

"_My friend do you fly away now, to a world that abhors you and I_?" "Gods! Is that all you…" "_Pride is lost, wings stripped away, the end is nigh._" "Genesis, listen to me! Ugh! Your arrogance and selfishness is disgusting! Look what you have allowed yourself to become. Are you so above me you cannot take my help? Do I repulse you so much the idea of my cells…"

"I want nothing from _you_." Genesis spat, heralding a chilling silence. His lips were pulled into a triumphant sneer. Finally, with a dramatic swirl of his glossy wing, "Your glory should have been mine. Do you think I will diminish, and fade into the dust? This world seeks my destruction, but I shall take it with me. _Nothing shall forestall my return_."

Without giving room for a reply, Genesis shot into the sky, leaving a few twirling black feathers in his wake. Sephiroth walked forward, catching an idling feather. His gloved fingers running over the softness.

"Angeal?" Sephiroth did not turn to the other man, his eyes tracing the velvety night lying weightlessly in his hand. A hopeless laugh caused him to turn. "Do we deserve life Sephiroth? We are monsters."

"You are what you allow yourself to become. If not for yourself, then do it for Genesis. If you are cured he would accept my cells, I know it. He doesn't want to die."

"I attacked Zack." Angeal seemed determined not to hear Sephiroth, and Sephiroth felt his irritation mount again. What was wrong with both of them? He had know it would be hard to convince them, but this…was the idea of his cells filling their bodies that unbearable?

"Monsters want only one thing, to be human…"

Sephiroth cut off the self-pitying words. "Angeal what happen to you? Where are your dreams, where is your talk of discipline now? Letting yourself wallow in despair when you could be grasping at hope."

"There is no hope for us…"

"Enough of this! If you care nothing for yourself, then at least do this for Zackary. Or have you forgotten him as well?" No response. "Then Genesis. He's the only one who ever meant anything to you, right?" Sephiroth could not keep the bitterness filling his words. "If you love him so much, then help him, since he appears incapable of helping himself."

Angeal turned drained eyes upon Sephiroth. "He is almost gone, I do not even know if there is anything left of him to save." Angeal aged before his eyes, the weight of the words sinking once unbreakable shoulders, dragging out his spent spirit. "We are monsters Sephiroth, there is nothing to save."

"Angeal wait!" But he was gone, disappearing into the sky where Sephiroth could not follow. And Sephiroth was left alone, his fist clenching about the delicate feather, crushing it as he sank to his knees.

_Gone._ They had not listened, he had failed them. Failed. Failed like he had failed Cloud. Gone. They were all gone, and he was all alone. _Oh gods. Oh gods._ They were gone and he'd never see any of them again. Breathe, choking, he was choking, couldn't breathe. _No. No. Alone. Forever. Failed. Useless failure. _

His hands pulled at his hair, trying to tear out the thoughts, the knowledge that it was over. He would never see them again because he had failed them, failed them all. And then he was swallowing down the pain. _Not here, not now._ The General rose to his feet, as graceful as ever; his face the perfect mask, his eyes cut gems, the untouchable General nothing and no one could rattle. And he didn't see anything, didn't hear the people calling for his attention when he entered the Tower. No one knew it was only a shell floating through their mists, as flawless as a god. But the beautiful shell was shattered inside, and no one knew, no one would ever know.

…

Sephiroth sat in his empty apartment, sunk into a couch which suddenly felt cold and clammy. He made no attempt to fight back the demons in his head. They sunk bloody claws into him, ripping all his old masks away. They cackled, and mocked him; throwing the truth he had long held at bay with desperate stubbornness back, smearing the filth of his own mind in his face. Hope stripped away, denial finally failing him, leaving him naked in the flame of the unbearable truth. He had failed, and they were gone forever. Genesis, Angeal, and…Cloud. Cloud was….

A knock stole the thought, if only it was so easy to escape the nightmare in his head. Sephiroth rose, feeling a strange heaviness in his bones. He stood, hand on the door knob, for a long moment, forcing his empty mask back in place, even as it slid away. _He couldn't do this._

"Sephiroth?" It was Zackary. Sephiroth's nostrils flared, but he pushed down the liquid in his lungs. He had to be strong. He was the General, but god, it_ hurt_.

More pounding. "Sephiroth are you there?"

Warped barriers were shoved in place by sheer desperation, and the door was swung open. "Zackary, come in."

Sephiroth turned, without waiting for a reply, blindly seeking out the frozen couch. _Did I just stumble?_

"Sephiroth?" Zackary perched anxiously on the other end. "Did you talk to Angeal? I tried, but he wouldn't listen, and I just…I don't think I got anything across. He…he attacked me…" His voice trailed off.

"I…" Sephiroth had to clear his throat, his voice had been so weak. "I do not think they are going to accept my cells." He forced his voice to remain steady, hiding behind cold professionalism.

"But…what? But he'll…die. They are going to die! How could he not listen? What did you say? Did you tell them about…"

Sephiroth held up a hand, stilling the string of desperate questions. "I told them, but they are beyond reason. Angeal, I do not think he believes himself worthy of redemption. He thought himself a monster."

"He said that to me too. He thought his wing was a monster's wing, but I told him…it was an angel's."

A sad smile burned Sephiroth's lips, but it was soon lost in ravaged thoughts_. If only I had been more understanding. If I had not…if I had controlled my anger…if only…if only…_

"He's gone then. Angeal's going to die." Zackary shook his head sharply, unable to accept this. "We can find them again, we have to, and we'll make them listen!"

"No. It's too late Zackary. It is up to them now. We cannot make them want to live. I do not know what…" he broke off, and then in a breath, "_My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment..."_

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Sephiroth looked away, wanting nothing more than to end this tortured conversation.

"I can't," Zackary began again after a pause, "I can't accept this. I don't think I can bear to lose Angeal. Not after Cl…" the word was bitten off, but it hung unfinished in the air, scorching Sephiroth's soul with emptiness.

"He's dead." Sephiroth's lips formed the thought without permission, opening a box already shattering.

He could feel Zackary's eyes on him, hesitating, questioning. _Don't, just don't. Please_. And then a warm hand squeezed his shoulder clumsily. "I know."

_Oh gods. I can't. No, no, please! _

The hand rubbed, spreading warmth, but no words were spoken, it was better that way. Sephiroth's head tilted towards the warmth. _So close, and it was so cold, I am so cold._

"Shh," Zackary steered Sephiroth's head to his shoulder, the arm slipping tighter about a shaking back.

"He's dead. And I…he's gone, forever, forever. They're all gone. And Cloud, _oh Cloud_!"

"I've got you, I've got you Sephiroth." Hand's fisting in a black sweater. He knew he was being weak. What was he thinking? The demons mocked him, but he couldn't, just couldn't pull away, he needed, needed…

"I couldn't save…I should have…and he's gone…and I…never, never again….hold him…." _I am crying?_ He didn't know, there was no wetness, no salt, but his throat burned. The pain was liquid agony, and it was nothing, nothing to the crushing in his chest, the knowledge, oh god, the_ knowing_. And he couldn't escape the knowing. This was the end then; the end of denial, the end of the lies he'd told himself all this time. Cloud was dead. Forever dead. It was too much, too much. So alone, so cold. He wanted to forget, needed to escape this pain.

He realized hazily that Zackary was crying too. Shudders racked the other man, pain tearing at the silence. Sephiroth just wanted it to end, all of it to end.

Angeal and Genesis. They were the first to treat him like a human being, the first to make him laugh. It seemed a lifetime ago when they had met. Just teens then, but so much more than boys. Already trained to kill. They met a few months before being shipped out to Wutai, deployed by the company that would steal everything from them. Their lives, their humanity, their very souls.

And Cloud. No, he couldn't think of Cloud. So short, the time he knew that fractured soul, but so sweet. Sephiroth had clutched at a dream. He had wanted so long….an eternity he had spent waiting, longing, but it had only been a dream until Cloud. A dream of love, of belonging, or being understood. The dream was dead. Cloud was dead. Cloud. _Cloud._ Sephiroth could still smell his skin, feel the beat of a heart against his in the darkness of that one night, and it had been so warm and safe, so safe. Broken dreams. Dead love. Love, he had loved Cloud. He could admit it now, in the safety of his own mind, but it was too late. He had held everything he had ever wanted, and time had had no mercy. It was over before it had begun, and Sephiroth would never hold him again, never never, because Cloud was dead. Dead.

When had his arms slipped about Zackary's waist? But it did not matter, it was warmer here, and he couldn't let go, didn't want to be all alone. "Zackary?"

"Zack, just Zack," the voice was broken, but the arms about him tightened.

"Are you going to leave?" He sounded pathetic to his own ears, but couldn't stop.

"No, don't make me." Zack pleaded, but Sephiroth wouldn't have been able to even if he had wanted. They sat in silence for a time, but it was not comfortable or peaceful; it hurt, maybe it would always hurt. And then, "I don't want to feel anymore."

Sephiroth stirred at the other's words, pulling back a little, but not knowing how to erect the shattered walls again.

"It hurts," an echo of Sephiroth's own soul, but he couldn't speak. Maybe it would hurt less if he didn't admit the pain, or maybe the pain would lessen with the words and there would be nothing left in its place. A hallow void, terrible in the nothingness of its being.

"Sephiroth, I…I don't want to feel…" Hot breath on his neck, the hands on his back moving, touching, sliding over cold leather until it was not so cold anymore, spreading heat. "Do you want to forget?" A tentative kiss, dark lashes sealed as if they could block out the pain.

Zack's hand sliding to his chest. And oh, he did not have to think quite so much. If he just thought about the hands, the mouth so close, not quite daring to cover the distance again. _Is this what Cloud meant? To escape the memories, the past, in a touch? Did that mean Cloud had never really wanted him? No, no, don't think._ Zack was warm and close, and Sephiroth wouldn't have to think.

A wet breath and then Sephiroth had touched the hot mouth again, breathing in the escape it offered. _He was falling, falling, maybe he wouldn't ever have to wake? _

Zack was silky warmth, smooth flesh stretched over hard muscles. Sephiroth had never done this before, but it had ceased to matter. Hands shook with urgency on sippers and buckles, and then they were on the bed, Zack pressing him down, pressing out the memories, stilling the thoughts.

"Sephiroth…I don't…I've never been with a man." Zack's voice broke into the forgetfulness, but it was alright because the voice didn't stir the demons. "Do you want me to…I thought maybe you'd be on top?" A heated flush on sun-kissed cheeks, and Sephiroth realized Zack was beautiful.

"Would you prefer that? I do not mind receiving." He didn't admit his own inexperience, what did it matter now?

"Yeah, I think I would. I kind of, don't want to be in control right now…" Zack looked away, ashamed of his selfish wish, but Sephiroth understood. They both just wanted to forget.

"It's fine Zack."

The ghost of a smile, "I like it when you say my name." And then Sephiroth had rolled Zack into the pillowed heat and there were no more words.

Forgetfulness, and unexpected pleasure. Why hadn't he remembered this would hold beauty too? Ah, it felt good, Zack was good. So hot; hot inside, hot trails of kisses, and hot hands caressing a long pale body. And there was escape, the demons gagged, the memories all but silenced in the passion of flesh. Yet one was so hard to evade; Sephiroth wasn't sure he really want to forget this one, and so it hovered close. The ghost of Cloud, the question of what might have been.

Would Cloud's nails have dug groves in his back like Zack's did? Would Cloud's back yield this perfect arch? He knew, if this was Cloud, his eyes would not have been closed, Sephiroth would not have allowed it. He would have seen every flicker of wild passion in their depths. But Sephiroth did not ask Zack to look at him. He gripped Zack's hips tighter, lifting them up off the tangled bed, thrusting deeper, faster, kissing the arched stomach. Zack cried out in pleasure, and Sephiroth pretended it was enough to fill the hollowness of his spirit, and banish the ghost of another.

Zack was so lovely, but he was not Cloud. Sephiroth could not prevent the soul wrenching longing. So he let his eyes drift shut, and lost himself in a dream that would scare when he realized it had been false. But it was so sweet now.

He blocked out the writhing body beneath him, and let himself image another. When he cried out in completion, filling the tight body in his arms, he imagined he was sharing this moment with Cloud. He called no name, though he doubted Zack would have cared if he had called for another. This was not love, this was escape, and Sephiroth did not ask if Zack was dreaming of another as well.

…

Crisp morning light was worming its way through the clouds of pollution choking Midgar, when Angeal noiselessly pushed open his old friend's bedroom door. Had it really been less than a year since the three of them had occupied the leather couch, Sephiroth and himself poking fun at Genesis's outrages theatrical choices? The waiting picture sprawled out in tangled sheets, drew him up short.

Zack, his puppy, had an arm thrown over Sephiroth's naked chest. Sephiroth's face was troubled even in sleep, and it sent a stab of guilt through Angeal. Sephiroth had only been trying to help them, and they had… Zack shifted in his sleep, a small sound of discomfort escaping parted lips, before the black head buried into Sephiroth's chest.

Emerald eyes cracked open, sensing the intruder. The hazy gaze slid to Angeal immediately, and he watched Sephiroth blink dreams away, eyes sharpening with recognition. Neither spoke, and then Zack drew their attention again with a sleepy murmur, snuggling deeper into Sephiroth's side. Angeal saw confusion wash over jade before a sorrow reaching deeper then he could measure, shook the irises. Silver lashes squeezed shut, and when they opened again they fixed upon Zack. Angeal struggled to read the emotion now, unease, doubt? Tentative fingers stroked back a wayward spike, revealing more of Zack's face.

"I'll wait outside," Sephiroth looked up, as if he'd forgotten Angeal's presence for a moment, but Angeal quickly slipped out without awaiting a reply.

The tip of his creamy wing drug along the wooden floor as Angeal paced anxiously, waiting. He wasn't sure how he felt about what he'd just witnessed, but he realized, with a sting of further guilt and regret, that it was none of his business. He did not know what place he still held in Zack's life, in any, and it was not for Angeal to approve or condemn Zack's choices. But he'd never thought Zack would choose _Sephiroth_….

The bedroom door creaked open and a fully clothed Zack slipped through, followed by Sephiroth. Zack took a few hurried steps forward before abruptly stopping before him, and Angeal read all the uncertainly in eyes as open as ever. But it was not Zack, the puppy, who stood before him. The young teen he had left behind would have flung himself into Angeal's embrace, grinning like mad, and talking a mile a minute. A man stood before him now. A quite confidence in his stance, a buried pain in eyes as bright as he remembered. Angeal felt a surge of pride, and shame. Shame that he had been one of the ones to cut the pain into Zack's innocence, and also sorrow that he had missed so many important months of the puppy's life, now lost forever.

"Angeal?" Even the voice had changed, steadier, burnished in a new maturity. He had been so consumed in his own misery yesterday, that he had been blind to man Zack had become.

"I…" his eyes traveled to Sephiroth who was watching him warily. He swallowed down the remorse, he had put that wariness there too. "Genesis is gone, he left during the night." He broke the gaze. "We…he needed me…but I couldn't…not after what you told us. He didn't care, but it's my _mother's cells_, and I couldn't give him what he wanted. I thought…almost, almost like a brother…I was disgusted with myself…"

He shook his head, trying to ease the memory of broken azure. He had promised, promised Genesis he would never leave him, but in the end he had left in spirit long before Genesis left him in body. He had been such a fool…

"Angeal," he looked up into bleeding green eyes, and realized the pain was bottomless and stretched so much farther than Genesis and his betrayal. Angeal had no idea what had slaughtered the light in Sephiroth's eyes, no idea, because he had not been here.

Zack looked on in confusion, never knowing the depth of his mentor's love for the fallen commander. Sephiroth was there, and Sephiroth understood far better then he should have. And this new understanding hurt too, one more failure Angeal laid on his own head. It seemed Sephiroth had needed them too.

Sephiroth moved forward, a hand settling on his arm. Angeal's fingers twisted in the leather sleeve, clasping a strong forearm. "I was a fool. When I realized…but it was too late, he's gone, and I would do anything to take it back. I don't care if we were full brothers in blood, it can make no difference now. To lose him…I may as well cut out my own heart. What are cells and blood when I have lost the only thing…the only thing that ever…"

"I know." Sephiroth squeezed his shoulder, "But he's still alive. There's still hope. We are going to make you better, and then we are going to find him."

Angeal nodded silently, leaning into his friend. He hadn't realized how dark the world had become until a glimmer of light appeared. He had spent long months watching his love slowly decay away, the beautiful mind warping under the gruesome, slow death. He saw now, how black and hopeless his world had become. He had been blind, caught up in his own horror and the disintegration of his own mind.

"I want that. I want to be healthy. I want to see Genesis smile again, if only one last time."

"No last time," Sephiroth pushed his own strength into the words, willing away Angeal's despair.

Zack was there, suddenly, the smell of warm earth and youth caressing Angeal's tired senses. Strong, sure arms wrapped about him, "Thank-you for coming back Angeal, thank-you for trying." Angeal could only nod, hating that he had made Zack _grateful_ he'd decided to save his own life.

"Alright," Sephiroth pulled away, taking charge just like he used to, but there was something different now. Even in the shelter of Angeal's growing hope, desperate to believe he could have his Genesis back, he could feel the barely repressed misery eating at Sephiroth's shadow, lurking for a moment alone with the man. Angeal wanted to ask, but now was not the time, and he wasn't sure if he hadn't irrevocably lost the right.

"We will have to do this here, Angeal. Shinra cannot know you're here." Angeal nodded solemnly. "I am going up to the labs to gather what we need; I've spend enough time in them to know what we need. Zack, stay here with Angeal, I'll be back soon."

Angeal was amazed when an awkward silence did not follow in Sephiroth's wake. Instead Zack was steering him towards the couch, ensuing Angeal got the left side so he could stretch his wing out. Angeal listened to Zack talk about being a First. Zack seemed eager to pick up where they had left off, but neither was naïve enough to believe that was possible. It would take time, and Angeal was just gratefully Zack even wanted to _try_. There were things unspoken in the silences between words, but Angeal did not press. Zack was not his puppy now, he was man. A man Angeal had betrayed badly, but one he knew he'd spend the rest of his life working to earn back the trust of, if that was what it took. Zack was worth it.

Angeal cut into the chatter, needing to apologize for what he had done the day before, even though he knew how meaningless words were. Zack listened in silence, and Angeal read how much Zack needed this, little though it was, in the wet blue eyes. Zack blinked away the moisture, and made Angeal's heart clenched when he accepted the apology with a humorous story of himself falling through a church window. What confused Angeal was the mention of a 'hot girl' he'd met. Zack admitted to being turned down for a date, but said he wasn't beaten yet, 'you don't meet girls like that every day.'

Angeal shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with where this left Sephiroth. It might have been none of Angeal's business now, but Sephiroth was still his friend and he knew how delicate the man's heart was behind all those walls. Angeal had never known Sephiroth to ever take a lover, and he doubted Sephiroth had changed so drastically that he would take casual sleeping partners.

Sephiroth returned, just as Angeal was deciding how to word his worry, but he silently vowed to pull Zack aside latter. "I think you should lie down for this Angeal. I am not sure how long it will take."

"Do you have any idea what to expect?" Angeal asked as they moved towards the bedroom.

"No," Sephiroth did not attempt to flower his ignorance.

"I see." With a twinge of trepidation, Angeal positioned himself of the messily made bed. He attributed Zack with making it…he really didn't want to think about that, he decided.

Angeal watched Sephiroth fiddle with needles, finally withdrawing some of his own blood before approaching Angeal. "I am not sure how much it will take, so let's start with a small amount and move from there."

It wasn't until the fifth infusing of blood in as many hours that Angeal passed out cold on the bed.

…

Angeal had been out for hours, and Zack was creeping into the bedroom to check on him again. Sephiroth hadn't gone to his office today, for which Zack was grateful. He didn't know what he was doing. He knew First Aid and could bandage wounds decently, but this was different, there was so much gray area -it was terrifying.

Zack adjusted the blanket about Angeal's shoulders, frowning when he noted a thin layer of sweat coating his mentor's forehead. He was in the bathroom, wetting a hand towel, when the screaming started. Zack had barely made it to Angeal's side before Sephiroth was bursting through the bedroom door.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know!" Zack watched Angeal's body being writhing on the bed. This wasn't good. "What should we do?"

Sephiroth was silent for a moment, and Zack could sudden see the strain hanging about the other man like a thick cloak. He realized Sephiroth had no more idea of what to do then himself. The screaming went on and on, cracking the heavy air, flooding the room, the apartment, no doubt the floor.

"People will hear him," Zack worried. He saw Sephiroth's hands tremble as they carefully pressed a gag into Angeal's mouth. Zack wanted to protest, but what else could they do?

Zack could feel the weight of the stifled screams seeping into his limps. What had they done? The question was reflected in harried jade. The grave silence only broken by the screams and wild thrashing of Angeal's body.

It went on and on and on…and then Angeal was choking. Sephiroth pulled the gag away and Zack helped him roll Angeal's heavy body over as the man vomited. Zack stared down at the stained floor in horror. A pool of black liquid where Angeal's breakfast should have been. When the vomiting had stopped, and the painful dry heaving was over, they settled Angeal back on the bed. Sephiroth ran his hand gently through the sweaty locks, a haunted look in green eyes. Zack could only imagine the self blame running through Sephiroth's head at this moment. At least the screaming had stopped.

Zack retrieved the wet cloth and tenderly wiped a trickle of black spittle lacing Angeal's chin. And then he was wiping a running nose, horror growing. It was black, all black. Thick oozing liquid pouring from Angeal's nose, and…oh god his eyes! Sephiroth murmured soft nothings into Angeal's ear, and Zack felt the man's growing panic as he tried to fight his own. _What was happening? No, this wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to be like this! Angeal was supposed to heal, and then, somehow, things would get better. They _had_ to get better…_

Angeal's eyes flew open and thought froze. Zack heard his own cry and Sephiroth's hissed breath. Eyes that should have been clear blue were filmed over, and Zack found himself staring into polished obsidian leaking coal black tears.


	18. Chapter 18

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 18

Icy fingers ghosted over the abandoned chains, causing the empty swings to sway in the wind. The earth was brown and dead, but the awaiting thaw of spring would not bathe it in vibrant greens. There were no brittle grasses adorning the child's playground. Trash and sewage replaced flowers and frosted shoots. In the summer the stench would have been unbearable, this far under the plate, but the flies were dead and the gagging stench of heated garbage absent. Aeris was tucked into the high slide, humming gently, as if the wreckage about them could not touch her. Perhaps it couldn't, she was still beautiful, even sheltered by graffiti walls plastered with god knew what.

Zack kicked at a crumbled plastic bottle, frowning. "I want to take you to dinner Aeris." She looked at him with her luminous eyes, as if she could not understand the words. "Let's go on a date, you know?"

Two weeks since Angeal appeared in Sephiroth's apartment, since he'd choked on the black fluid. Two weeks, every day sapping more and more of the SOLDIER's strength. Zack spent most of his time in Sephiroth's apartment, at Angeal's side, only escaping when Sephiroth was freed from his duties as General. It was driving Zack mad; this was his first chance away from the Tower and he was determined to forget what awaited him upon his return.

He felt guilty for leaving Angeal, but Sephiroth was watching him, and his mentor's condition had finally shifted last night. They had thought they were witnessing Angeal's slow death, though neither had spoken the words allowed. Zack had seen it in Sephiroth's eyes every time he wiped the sweating brow, or changed soaking, blackened sheets. The terrible oozing of the mysterious liquid had not abated, not until last night. Angeal was still so week, so fragile and pale, but maybe, just maybe there was hope. Angeal had broken from his feverish sleep, asking for Genesis. Sephiroth had gotten some broth down the parched throat, it was not much, but it was something.

Zack and Sephiroth had spent the night in silent vigil, desperately hoping this was a sign of improvement. Zack had combed gentle fingers through the white wing. The feathers had been shedding steadily for days. The pale feathers fell away to reveal the skeletal frame, gray sickly skin hanging off the feeble bones. It had been an accident; Zack's finger's running over the tip, light touches that were suddenly too rough. The wing's tip had snapped in Zack's hand, breaking like a brittle twig. No sound of pain escaped Angeal's lips, his eyes still sealed in sleep. Zack had been horrified, staring at the broken wing; panic ceasing his heart, terrified that this was a sign of Angeal's approaching death. Sephiroth had tried to calm him, offering meaningless words of false assurance, for how could the General know? They were both equally blind and lost, forced to watch Angeal's life seep away before their eyes.

Zack forced the thought away. He couldn't dwell on it, nothing was set, nothing sure. He would cling to hope until Angeal's last breath left his shuddering body. No, he wouldn't think that, Angeal would get better, the terrible 'bleeding' had stopped, surly that meant something?

Aeris's gentle smile scattered the doubt, and he miraculously found himself smiling back. He was glad he'd come, there was something about this girl…something different. Her presence soothed him. With just a smile she imparted hope, even surrounded by the oppressive gloom and despair of the slums. A gem shining in the darkness.

"Did you play here as a child?"

He wanted to know her. When he was with her he felt young and ancient all at once. He couldn't explain it, but it made him look at her and see a woman, not a girl of sixteen. With her he wanted to be a man, not because of childish desires to please and impress. He wanted to be a man who could protect her, and hold her, and know her as a man knows a woman. Not just the sex between a boy and girl, something so much deeper, purer, and solid.

"No," her answer was soft, but something lurked beneath the simple word.

"Really?"

Her smile hid something deep, and his brow furrowed. She was so young and innocent, and yet… "I did not grow up around here."

"Oh? Where then?"

She was silent a long moment, and then, "Maybe I'll tell you some day. When I came here I was already seven, but I never played with the other children." She shrugged an elegant shoulder.

"You didn't have many friends." Somehow he already knew this to be true, though why he couldn't imagine.

"Not many. I was not allowed to stay far."

"Hum," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well one day we'll have to go far far away." He teased, "Of course, you'll have to agree to go on a date with me first. I could take you on my bike, pack a picnic, and hit the road. Ride until there's nothing but blue skies and green, you'd like that?"

"The sky frightens me." Zack stared at her, "but maybe it wouldn't be so scary with you."

"There's nothing scary about the sky, you'll see." Zack made the words confident, overshadowing his own confusing.

"It's more than the sky I think. I've only seen it once...my mother and I were leaving…the place we were before here. I was afraid, but she promised we were safe now." Aeris's eyes slid shut, "We ran until there were no more black clouds, and everywhere was blue, blue like your eyes. It was so big." She shivered, "Mother told me not to be afraid, but…there was something there, waiting for me. It was pulling, wanting something from me, voices in the earth, the sky…" she trailed off.

Green eyes held his. Eyes he had thought bare minutes ago could reflect nothing but innocents. There were shadows in those eyes, dark secrets that hurt and aged, but the innocent was there too. Innocents free of naivety. Young and old, woman and girl, innocent and wise.

"I'd like to see the sky again. It felt... like home even if I was afraid."

"Sure, babe, I'll take you someday. I promise."

A shy smile, young and unsure, "You wanted to take me on a…date?"

"Yeah," he grinned, holding out his hand to help her down from the dirty slide.

"A date is what people go on when they…like each other?"

Such innocents, it pulled at the lost boy within him. "That's right." He was surprised when a warm hand fitted into his. He wanted to kiss her smile, but only pulled the soft hand closer. Innocents cloaking the girl with a woman's eyes, he vowed to protect her. He didn't want to see the shadows ever touching the huge green eyes again.

….

Zack shifted the grocery bag to his left arm as he searched for his spare key to Sephiroth's apartment. It was late; he should have been back hours ago, but even after a quite dinner with Aeris he hadn't been able to point his feet towards the Tower. He knew what awaited him here, and for all the hope he struggled to coax up, the room still smelt like death.

Zack dumped the plastic sack on Sephiroth's pristine white counter. Over the last two weeks he'd taken up cooking, it beat paper work or mindless waiting. He hadn't been on any missions, but his absence was easily explained after the attacked. Too 'emotionally distressed,' Sephiroth had approved a temporary leave of absence.

The apartment was still and mute, it was passed midnight but Zack knew he would find Sephiroth in the back bedroom, staring at the motionless figure. Zack clenched his jaw, hating that he had left Sephiroth alone, yet knowing he couldn't have brought himself to spend another evening under the weight of both their guilt. _Angeal you have to pull through, I don't know if either of us can live with ourselves if…_

The bedroom was dark; Sephiroth had not bothered to turn on a lamp. The darkness was better than looking in each other's eyes, better than seeing the grayness of Angeal's skin or the way it peeled from the bones. Glowing green eyes met his as he slipped into the room. He cursed his enhanced eyesight yet again; he could see every premature line etched in Sephiroth's face, every whispered word of blame and despair in those unblinking eyes.

Sephiroth would not turn aside the guilt or self blame; he gathered it about him like a cloak, as if it could make _this_ any easier to bear. But the pain was so much more then strained skin about eyes and mouth. Sephiroth had not spoken of it again, but only a fool would believe the icy block of Sephiroth's pain had shed even a sliver from _that night._ Raw and bleeding, Cloud's name still etched into the groves of his heart, offering no rest, no peace. It was torture just to _watch_ the man.

Zack moved to the bed. He pressed the back of his hand to a sweaty brow. "Any change?"

"He awoke once and took a little more broth, but he did not recognize me." There was no pain in the words, there was nothing.

Zack did not try to impress cheer into the blanket of despair shrouding the dark room. He held Angeal's limp hand and took his place on the bed, ready for a long night of waiting, lost in the darkness of their doubt and ignorance.

Zack broken the silence, asking pointless questions of Sephiroth's day, and Sephiroth returned the dead questions by asking after 'his girl.' Sephiroth's voice as listless as ever, even as Zack tried to re-kindle the hope and comfort he felt with Aeris. Their voices drifted away, the barrier between themselves and the silence shattered. It swallowed them whole, and they spent hours lost in it.

There was no awkwardness between them. No words had been spoken of _that night_, but none were needed. It had happened. Maybe, if the pain became too much, it would happen again, but words were not needed. They had found a temporary comfort in each other's arms, but what they shared now, in the darkness of these nights, was a bond neither had looked for but both cherished and clung too desperately. It was deeper then sex or the false cheer of words and smiles, death had melded their lives together.

Angeal broke the silence, a low moan slipping passed chapped lips. Zack rose, reaching for water, broth, a cool cloth, whatever he could to ease the pain. It happened so quickly, and left the two watchers in stunned silence. Angeal, who had lain weak and fading upon his back for days, unable to even lift his head, suddenly rolled his large frame. It was the wrong side, the wing's side. A loud snap cut through Zack's busying and Sephiroth's anxious worrying. Angeal moaned again, but it whispered of relief, as if an itch that had been bothering him was finally reached.

Blue eyes, clear as a winter's sky, opened, surveying the two stunted watchers. Angeal's elbows sank into the soft bed as he struggled to lift himself. Sephiroth was there in a heart's beat, strong hands lifting the mated dark head to rest against his shoulder. Zack's eyes flickered between his mentor and the broken appendix, lying like a snake's shed skin upon the bed. The wing was no longer attached to the broad back, it had snapped clean off. Zack circled around, running a cautious hand over the hole in Angeal's uniform, pushing the torn cloth aside to see…a long white scar, all which remained.

Zack's eyes met Sephiroth's, so much said in one look, and so much left to say. Angeal groaned, feeble hands clutching at the soft cotton of Sephiroth's shirt. Carefully, Zack moved the severed wing, nearly naked of feathers, placing it gently upon the bed before Sephiroth lowered his friend to the pillows once again.

"Angeal?" Sephiroth called the eyes open again. So clear, so blue. Zack felt like sobbing in relief as they met his and _knew _him.

He had held so desperately to hope, trying, trying so hard not to falter even as the days slipped by. But it had been so hard, he had slipped, falling down, and down a slope he had once navigated so easily. Hope, he had taken it for granted for so long, grins and teasing and bright youthfully optimism, so easy to reach and grasp. But it had been a desolate struggle, his body and spirit worn down from months of knowing nothing but bleak loss. His fingers had clawed into the mud of that slope, eyes fixed on the hope he was determined to horde at all cost. But he had been slipping, falling, failing, hope's light flickering out.

Angeal looked at him with tired, clear eyes, and saw him. The spluttering flame of hope roared into a firestorm.

….

He floated lifelessly in the green liquid, exhausted muscles occasionally jerking against a pain shredding him like a knife cutting through paper. His throat formed senseless words and voiceless screams. The torn skin of his arms and bare chest was already healing, but the madness of the green fire that had guided his own fingernails to inflict the wounds, still held him thrall.

He did not know how long he had been floating in the Mako this time, maybe hours, maybe days or years. Time held no meaning, and no measure. He could no more discern the passing of a day as a minute. It was all eternal agony, but he had done this before, they both had, and they had survived. His numbed spirit clawed through the voices screaming in his head, there were so many now, brought here by the Mako. The voices of the dead, all scraping their way into the breathing body; yearning for life again, hoping to push the joined spirit out, but Zack would not let them have this body. He was Zack Fair, SOLIDER First Class, and neither the voices in the Mako, nor Hojo would steal him from himself.

It was like swimming through mud, a desperate fight against the voices in their head. He called for him, his other half, needing his sun, his reason to endure through this endless pain. He tried, tried so_ hard_, to save his Spiky. He had failed in their other life, left him alone in the mud. Mind shattered, the heavy burden of a promise Cloud should never have carried, pulling the slender shoulders down. The leather of the Buster Sword still warm from where Zack had gripped it now an impossible weight in Cloud's hands. The sky had been crying; concealing the tears Zack had not been able to hold back in the end. He had to be strong. He_ had_ to, for Cloud. But Zack remembered the terror, unable to force that last smile. He had been so afraid, afraid for Cloud who couldn't even remember his own name, and afraid for himself. He had been twenty-three when he died, but didn't feel a day over eighteen.

He remembered the betrayal of his General, his friend. It cut so deeply, a mirror of Angeal's betrayal. Eighteen, and so scared. The dull light of Midgar shone through the sheets of cold rain; wet, icy fingers of death running into the bullet holes in his chest. Aeris. He wished he could see her smile one last time, feel her small hand wrapped about his.

_Cloud._ Zack was breaking, the pain, oh god the burning pain.

_We've done this before kid, we won't break_.

Slender arms wrapped about him as the two spirits embraced. He inhaled the sunlight of Cloud's hair, wishing they could feel a real sun on their face again, but not daring to try and count the days they had spent in hell.

_I'll get us out of here kid, I promise._

A dry sob cut into his shoulder, the edge of hysteria clinging to it.

_Don't stray so far next time, Spiky. I know it hurts, but we got to stick together. _

_Sorry Zack. _

_Not your fault, just don't listen to the voices, OK? They aren't our friends, remember last time. _

_Zack?_

_Yeah Spiky. _

_I want to go home, I want…I want Sephiroth. _

A bitter-sweet smile pulled at Zack's lips. Sephiroth, he missed him too. All those years of watching the madness in his friend's eyes, the pain and loneliness the life of a 'god' had bought Sephiroth. He had watched through Cloud's eyes, never having the control he now possessed over this body, never wanting it. Cloud may have lost himself in Zack's memories, but it had always been Cloud in control, never Zack.

Zack's soul had wept when he'd first realized a part of himself had entered Cloud. He hated himself in that moment, hated himself for the fear, and the blood running down a pale cheek. Hated the broken part of himself inhabiting Cloud's soul, and he hated his own selfish desire to be united with his whole spirit now safe in the Lifestream. He had wanted to be free of Cloud's body more for his own peace then for Cloud's sanity. He had been so tired, so weak, only a piece of a soul, and a damaged one at that; Cloud had not been the only one hurt in Hojo's labs. He yearned for the peace of death if he could not be granted the salvation of his own breathing body.

The half life in Cloud's body had been torture, up until the moment he had looked into green eyes, his fingers brushing against creamy skin as he took a flower from _her_. It had been selfish and glorious. He had felt her body against his in the months that followed, heard her sweet voice, buried his noise in chestnut locks and inhaled her love. And then she was gone, ripped away from both of them, stolen by the one he had called friend. He had teased Sephiroth, laughed and joked with him, held him when his body shook after hours in the labs. He had followed him; called him friend, loved him, believed in him, trusted him, and watched him tear the love of his life out of his arms.

But no, it had not been Sephiroth, it couldn't have been, those were the words he comforted himself with, because it hurt too much to believe Sephiroth would kill Aeris, not Aeris. It had been Jenova. Jenova had murdered his love; Aeris's precious, stainless blood was on Jenova's hands. It had been Jenova, all Jenova. Jenova had torn his Spiky apart, destroyed Sephiroth, caused Angeal to lie to him, taken Aeris from him. Jenova was the reason they had suffered in the labs, the reason they suffered even now. His hate had no beginning and no end. Jenova. Jenova. Jenova. She laughed, worming her way into their head. Zack drew Cloud closer, wishing he could press his hands against Cloud's ears and shut her laughter out. Zack swore an oath of blood and pain, that they would be the one to send Her to hell and oblivion. They would make Her pay for every drop of pain. Their hate had no beginning or end; it was eternal, and all for Her.

Voices, someone was screaming, and it was not a voice of the dead. Zack tried to pry their glowing blue eyes open, but they were so tied. Cloud stirred in his arms, fingers clinging to his black sweater, a voiceless whisper begging to let them hide.

It took Zack a long moment to realize the Mako was draining in the tube, sliding off their bare chest, swirling down uniform pants to suck into the drain beneath naked, chilled toes. They could breathe again without the terrible aching pressure in their lugs, crushing their chest. The constant itch to tear the flesh from their bones and end the agony of Mako soaked skin, slid down the drain with the green poison.

But they knew it would only be a temporary relief. Hojo must have come for them again, and there would be cold metal, terrible mind shattering pain, and hands. Zack never knew if the hands were past memories or if history was again repeating itself, a cruel cycle. Were the hands here or just in Cloud's memories? They were not left naked to float in the Mako, but that signified nothing. Maybe there had been hands touching, sliding over skin that should not have been touched, but Zack did not want to know. Blocked the question from his mind, _he did not want to know_.

He heard the sickening sucking sound of the capsule opening, and then they were falling, too weak to hold their body up. Arms caught them, but they were different this time. A warm chest greeted them instead of the cold floor they would be dragged over to the table of their nightmares. Something wrapped about them, soft as silk, holding them in a warm embrace. It was smooth feathers, a wing. Sephiroth?

Zack felt the skipping of Cloud's heart, the desperate hope. _Sephiroth._ Had he come for them? Oh please, please let it be over. How many times had he dreamed, had they both dreamed, in that other life, of Sephiroth rescuing them from Hojo. Hoping it had all been some terrible mistake, that Sephiroth had not really killed all those people, had not really looked at them with those cold dead eyes. All a terrible mistake and Sephiroth would come; his friend would not leave them at Hojo mercy.

But Sephiroth had not come, would never come, yet he was here now…but no, this was wrong. A wing, Sephiroth did not have a wing, did he? Their mind struggled to comprehend, to focus on anything. So many whirling scattered thoughts, fusing the past with the present as two separate minds struggled together against the nightmare of their existence, but two spirits were never meant to dwell within one body. So much confusion, and Zack wished he could stuff himself down, pull away, become what he once had been, but he did not know _how_.

He felt leather under his cheek, Sephiroth? Oh gods, NO! Don't let…don't let _Her_ have him. He couldn't…Cloud! Cloud forced their eyes open in desperate denial, it couldn't be Sephiroth, don't let it be Sephiroth, not if he had a wing, no, please NO!

Blood and white, crimson staining white lab coats and dead empty eyes. They looked at the arm holding them and saw more blood, so much blood! But no, that was wrong, it wasn't blood, it was…red leather.

Arms scooped them up, carrying their broken body like a child. Their cheek pressed into a neck, short white hair tickling their noise. They smelt intoxicating spice, but underneath was the stench of the old, the smell of slowly decaying skin that clung to those far advanced in years.

"_There is no hate, only joy, for you are beloved by the goddess. Hero of the dawn, healer of worlds, Dreams of the marrow hath the shattered soul. Pride is lost. Wings stripped away, the end is nigh." _

They knew that voice, the aristocratic drawl, but the face was lost. The arms tightened, and they felt themselves being carried, cradled like a precious cargo. It felt good, safe, the voice was safe. Somehow, they knew, the voice could hurt them; hurt them so much, but not now, not here. They were safe in these arms, in the shadow of this voice.

The beautiful net of comfort was shredded as they passed through long cold corridors, and came to Her room. They passed no one, glowing eyes drifting shut in exhaustion, but the smell of fresh blood reached their enhanced senses. So much Mako in their blood now, the threads of voices echoing in the corners of their mind, but that was nothing new. It was familiar like the feel of their beloved swords in their palms, but there was nothing welcome in the voices' presence. They were one of the many prices to be paid for the stolen debt of the planet's blood -Mako.

The arms holding them did not sway when they entered Her place. The legs of their savior beat a steady rhythm against the concrete floors, no hesitation as Her voice grew and grew in their head. The hate, never sleeping, surged through them, snapping their eyes open and a strangled sound from their throat. They met frowning azure eyes as they struggled against the hold, and they knew the eyes.

Genesis gave them their legs, questioning their distress, but their throat could not yet form words through the inferno of hate, hate, hate. They would destroy Her, maker Her pay, and scream and grovel for relief. They would send her back to the hell that birthed Her. Frantic fingers dug into their pockets searching, hoping, not knowing if all their secrets had been stolen from them. Relief, as they closed shaking fingers over the small orb; one secret yet remained, how did not matter, nothing matter but total and absolute destruction.

Jenova screamed in their head, and they heard Genesis gasp as he finally became aware of the monster. She threw her rage against them as they channeled the power of the fire matiria stolen all those long months ago, in what seemed another world, but was not. The Mako in their blood lent them strength, and they fuelled all their hate towards Jenova on a wave of fire more intense than any formed in nature. She screamed, writhing like a slick eel in their mind, trying to escape. They were weak, and she was powerful. They faced not her severed head, but Jenova entire. Her body was dead, but her mind had lost none of its potency. They were too _weak_. Cloud screamed in furry, and Zack echoed it a thousand times in their head.

Gloved fingers circled their wrist, and a hard chest met their back as their body stumbled under the strain. Genesis lent them his strength, yet it was more than the power of another First Class. Green tendrils threaded with Cloud's fingers, flowing out of Genesis's hands. The body holding them up trembled from the stress. The Lifestream channeled itself through the degrading SOLDIER's body, and it was too much, the power of the planet sending them both to their knees. But the fire spell was not broken, only burned the brighter until the screaming was cut off, dropping into the roaring silence of flames.

Jenova was gone, utterly destroyed, brought down in flames and hate and pain and alliance and love. She was gone forever, no pieces left. The devourer of worlds, a being formed in the fires of darkness, was herself devoured.

Hollowness replaced the hate. Revenge held no sweetness for it erased nothing, all the pain of the past was still there, as sharp as ever. But then there was something else to fill the void –hope. Fragile, precious hope. Maybe, just maybe….

Genesis slumped onto the icy concrete, his last strength given to the saving of his world. "Genesis?" Their fingers touched the worn, ashen skin, combed through white hair.

Bleary eyes met theirs, "So, this is what it means to be a hero?" The voice was broken, crushed dreams, withered hope, and shameful lies shinning out of the weary eyes. "It's better this way, I saw…Cloud, I saw _myself_…" Genesis could not continue, his life seeping out onto the cold hard floor.

Cloud stirred, weak arms trying to lift the larger body, but they only managed to raise Genesis's torso off the ground, the white head falling into their lap. A translucent hand suddenly brushed the aged skin of Genesis's face, and they looked up into azure eyes worn from loss, but wrapped in peace.

"Well met, Guardian of Gaia," the spirit Genesis addressed them.

"I didn't know…" Cloud shook his head, the_ how_ ceasing to matter, "Will he be alright?"

The white head in their lap stirred, eyes opening to survey his second self. "We meet again."

"You chose well." The spirit Genesis replied.

"I couldn't…not after you showed me…Angeal…" he trailed off in a pained whisper.

The spirit Genesis met Cloud's confused eyes, "I showed him what might have been, had he not turned from his path of destruction and meaningless revenge. I showed him _my _fate, the loss of everything he loved in exchange for eternity bound as the planet's tool as payment for the goddess's gift. It is not a path I would choose again."

"_My soul corrupted by vengeance_..." the dying Genesis croaked out. "Angeal, Sephiroth, they will be safe now?"

"Yes," Cloud answered. The ghost of a smile caught lips that had once smirked and teased with the vitality of life, and now folded under the weight of one small smile.

"The planet gave you a choice, Genesis." The spirit Genesis began. "You chose to save Cloud, Gaia's chosen Guardian and warrior; you chose to put aside your hate and revenge to save Angeal and Sephiroth from the enemy of Gaia –Jenova, no matter the cost to yourself. The planet has chosen to reward you." The spirit Genesis's palm pressed into the laboring breast. The green light of life, of the Lifestream, of Mako, flowed over Genesis. Cleaning, healing, renewing, saving.

Cloud watched in awe as the planet gave a gift that could not be bought or bargained for. A healing he had seen and experienced only once before when his own body had failed him, slowly dying. The white turned to auburn, the cracked, wrinkled skin rolling back to youth, relieving Genesis as he should have been, a man in the flush of life. Tired blue eyes widened in amazement, and Cloud could imagine the healing Genesis felt reaching into the very bones of his body. The black wing stretched, fluttering in the joy of life. Its soft feathers shone like a well groomed raven's.

Cloud touched the wing hesitantly, marveling at the beauty of this gift. The planet had been merciful; it had given Genesis a second chance, even as Cloud had been given a second chance. As the last threads of green faded the azure eyes slipped shut.

"He rests now." The spirit Genesis imparted, even as his translucent body began to fade. "The healing of the Lifestream is not yet complete; it will finish its work in the days to follow, as his body recovers. Keep him safe, Cloud Strife."

The Genesis of Cloud's past world was gone, leaving the peacefully sleeping figure in his arms. The black wing flexed again before folding back into Genesis's body, for which Cloud was grateful. It would be hard enough struggling with the larger frame without the off balance of a dragging wing.

Cloud and Zack assessed their body, calling up their last dregs of strength. They had to move. The burning pyre of Jenova had burnt down to a natural flame, but it was spreading. Cloud did not regret seeing the lab burn, but he didn't want to burn with it.

As he struggled to his feet the first thoughts of doubt crept in. Hojo. Where was Hojo? How could he have forgotten the monster in a human's body, yet again? His eyes darted about frantically, but there was no sign of the mad scientist, though that gave Cloud no peace. He wished he had the strength to search the lab for a body. He needed to see Hojo's severed head before he believed the man was dead. Too sneaky, too cunning, for death. The leaden fear that Hojo had escaped Genesis's rapier, settled in Cloud's gut, but he had to press on. As much as he wanted to feel the slick of Hojo's blood in his hands, he needed to get them out first.

Trembling legs carried them out of the smoking lab, the weight on his shoulder threatening to pull him down, but he would not leave Genesis, and desperation gave him strength. When he felt the icy grains of sand curl about his bare toes, he stumbled to his knees. Pebbles pressed into his hands as he lowered his burden, his strength failing him as sea wind slapped his face.

He opened his mouth, tasting salt, smelling winter. How long had they been locked in the bowels of hell? He was too tired to think, too tired to wonder. His face pressed into the wet sand of its own volition. His body slumping into soft earth, one hand wrapped in red leather, anchoring their wandering mind.

Cloud passed into exhausted sleep, Genesis's healing body at his side. It might have been hours or days later when he awoke to insistent shaking, and his Mako glowing eyes opened to gold metal and a tattered red cape.


	19. Chapter 19

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 19

"Dude you scored?" Warren snickered, elbowing Reynolds who was stretched out on his cot, hands looped behind his head with a cocky grin on his face.

"I more then scored. I popped her cherry." Reynolds smirked.

"Man you're such a faggot," Maddox sneered from across the room, not bothering to look up from the magazine he was lazily pursuing.

_(Faggot: A disparaging term for a homosexual male)_

"Stuff it Maddox," Reynolds growled, shoving himself up to his elbows on the army issued cot Shinra passed off as a bed.

Maddox just snorted. "That girl was a tramp if I ever saw one."

_(Tramp: One who travels aimlessly about on foot, doing odd jobs or begging for a living; a vagrant)_

"You callin me a liar?" Reynolds glared.

"Nope. I think you can dig your own hole just fine."

"Ignore him," Warren snickered, turning a leering smile upon Reynolds, "So what was it like?"

Reynolds smirked, "Wouldn't you like to know."

Warren shoved him, "Don't be a jerk, spill."

"Gods Warren, you're such a pervert. You've got to be the only guy who's never gotten any in the entire Shinra army." Maddox drawled.

_(Pervert: To lead into deviant or perverted beliefs or behavior; corrupt)_

Warren's eyes flashed, his nostrils flaring like a stag backed into a cliff face by a pack of wolves, well aware of all the other ears in the barracks listening in on the conversation. Shinra packed its military personal in tight on the Wutai front. They were lucky they had a roof over their heads and not a flimsy canvas tent leaking the down pouring rain. And like a trapped animal Warren struck out at any perceived weakness he could find, diverting the wolves' attention to another prey. "At least I've gotten some action, unlike Sephiroth over there."

All eyes turned to the silent silver-haired teen who blinked owlishly at the sudden attention.

"So Sephiroth," Reynolds demanded. "You ever screwed a girl?"

_(Screw (verb): To drive or tighten a screw)_

It sounded painful, like something Hojo would have enjoyed watching him perfect. And what did cherries have to do with any of this? He was lost, but that was hardly a new state of existence for him these days. He had to give an answer –quickly now, no hesitation or they'll pick up on your ignorance, your weakness—"Yes."

Warren scoffed, "Yeah right, like a nancy boy like you could ever score."

_(Score: A result, usually expressed numerically, of a test or examination)_

Reynolds rolled over on his cot, pressing his belly into the scratchy wool blanket and began a lewd display, grinding his hips into the mattress and crying, "Oh yes baby, yes! Fuck you're so wet—hold on a sec, I got some hair in my mouth." Reynolds flicked the pretend hair away with an overly dramatic gesture, pausing a moment to examine his reflection in an imaginary mirror.

More than one soldier was rolling around with laugher by the end of Reynolds impersonation. Reynolds stood up to take a fake bow, a smug look on his face as he basked in the attention.

Oh. They were discussing sexual intercourse. _(Sexual intercourse: The act carried out for procreation or for pleasure in which the insertion of the male's erect penis into the female's vagina is followed by rhythmic thrusting usually culminating in orgasm; copulation; coitus i.e. fucking)._ Not that it would have mattered. He doubted he would have received a more positive reception if he had answered the question of his sexual experience in the negative. Sephiroth was used to their laughter by now. He kept a blank expression on his face, refusing to let them see (refusing to admit to himself) that their mocking voices still held the power to cut him.

…

Sephiroth has always known he was different. Hojo would call it 'special;' Sephiroth called it 'monster' often enough in his own head. Different, always and forever. With eyes more animalistic then human, hair that belonged on a crinkly old crone, and a body that out-lasted _everything_ –human, monster, anything and everything Hojo could throw at it.

He remembers the burn of Mako in his lungs (one of his first memories), the way it feels to be dissected like a bug, spread eagle on a lab table and not a drop of anesthetic in sight because it might ruin the 'test.' He remembers the pain (and this is his first and forever memory of childhood), but more than the physical pain, he remembers the strange holes he'd felt tear inside when he'd finally, finally, finally got out of the labs and met 'people his own age.'

Sephiroth remembers Professor Gast as a vague shadow in his mind. Gast was dead before Sephiroth's seventh birthday and had left the Project, and the boy he'd sentenced to hell, months earlier. But what Sephiroth can remember of the scientist is the man's strange insistence Sephiroth be allowed in interact with 'children his own age.' Hojo had never allowed it, deeming it an unimportant waste of time, but eventually Sephiroth had been forced into the company of others and he'd wondered why the seemingly kind-faced Gast had wished such cruelty upon him.

Children were cruel. This was not a lesson Hojo or any of the other scientists and specialists involved in his 'development' bothered to teach him, but one he'd discovered in the trenches of Wutai. Right alongside what it felt like to raise a village by the sword and flame, and cut a baby in two with one long (graceful, oh so graceful) swing of the Masamune:

Half the company had been wiped out in the mudslide. The Wutainese had long since learned how to predict and navigate the deadly earth piles, but the Westerners, city boys for the most part, were not so lucky. In Wutai, during those miserable winter months, it rained. Continuously. It was the wet socks that bothered Sephiroth the most (this was before Shinra dressed their star SOLDIER up in black leather, when he still wore an unaltered SOLDIER issued uniform); he hated the way he could never keep his feet dry. It was a killer for the regular troopers, literally when the trench foot, and later gangrene, set in.

He'd only recently received command of the now depleted company when he'd been promoted to Lieutenant, First Class. If Sephiroth had been a superstitious man he would have wondered if there was any truth in the Wutainese old wives tales of Da Chao, the Holy Mountain of Wutai, that spoke of the Mountain as a sentient being, almost a god in itself. To a lesser man a wave of mud rolling off the treacherous shoulders of the glowering Da Chao could have been taken for divine vengeance upon the invaders. Sephiroth however didn't have a religious bone in his body.

He was sixteen, wearing a coat of mud over _everything, _and dragging a decimated and shaken troop of soldiers behind him as he'd plotted back into camp, only to be hit by an armful of muscles with a ridiculously large sword strapped to its back.

Angeal had scooped him up like a doll, blathering about how he'd thought Sephiroth was_ dead_. No doubt the rumors of Sephiroth's demise had been exaggerated; they would be after going through what the Shinra army tried to pass off for classified telecommunications.

At first he'd thought Angeal was trying to strangle him and he couldn't remember what he'd done to make the man he hesitantly labeled 'friend' angry enough to kill him. However, it had only taken him a moment to realize Angeal wasn't attempting his murder. The bawdy arms were wound tight about him –at shoulder and waist—pressing him against Angeal's sweater-covered chest. Strange. No doubt this was another peculiar custom everyone but him seemed to understand. This felt…nice, though, warm. But its pleasantness didn't make it any less incomprehensible.

Sephiroth's arms hung loose at his sides and he stood completely still, waiting patiently for Angeal to finish. Eventually the other First did, pulling back to give Sephiroth one of his sad, pitiful smiles. The ones he always favored Sephiroth with when the silver-haired teen did something 'odd.'

"Too what purpose did that display serve?" Sephiroth asked, his head cocked like a curious child. It didn't hurt as much to see Angeal's pity (oh, he hated it, but Angeal was always so so careful with him whenever he wore it. Sephiroth could always count on having his newly discovered deficiently solved, brushed neatly, quickly under the table. Out of sight out of mind). Neither Genesis nor Angeal wanted to think too deeply about _why_ Sephiroth had no memory of every being hugged. Theirs was a delicate friendship, and there were some things none of them ever talked about.

"It was a hug. People do it when they want to show another that they…care." Angeal explained uncomfortably, already backing up and returning to that dignified (ridiculous) stance he'd adopted lately, the one that was supposed to display his maturity. Angeal always did have to be the 'eldest,' the most responsibly; even at seventeen he was developing a frown line between his brows from all his 'seriousness.'

Sephiroth hadn't known how to respond to Angeal's admittance of caring; he'd learned early in his life to hide what he was thinking and erase all hints of feelings from his face, better yet, not feel them at all. Angeal and Genesis were his friends, but while they were completely comfortable in each other's company, Sephiroth couldn't help feeling separate from them. They had known each other all their lives; he was just the strange boy they'd picked up as new recruits, drawn to each other because of their similar superior skill more than anything. Their friendship had so much jealously and secrets (inside jokes and less innocent ones) between two and the never-ever-quite-belonging, that it was hard to say if what they shared really was friendship. But it was the best, the closest, thing Sephiroth had.

Sephiroth still stumbled over his continuous surprise and awe that they were here (with him) at all. And the fear too, always the fear, that they would turn on him. One day they would actually listen to what the other soldiers were saying about him and realize they didn't want to be seen with that 'odd-ball.'

Sephiroth gave socially awkward a new name. People could be so very very cruel, and he was a social disaster, the perfect scapegoat. It had hurt at first, unbearably. He'd been so lost, pretending, stuffing all the confusion and pain down, hoping they couldn't see. Children were like sharks, they smelt the weak-link in a group like blood in the water. Physically he could best them all a hundred times over, but the only interactions he'd ever experienced, ever even imagined, were those between the white walls of a lab. He'd memorized the hierarchy of the Shinra military by the age of six, mastered urban warfare, hostage evacuation, tactical weapons, advanced materia, and a host of other subject suitable for the perfect soldier while other children were still prancing about with toy swords. He was designed to be a weapon after all, not a social butterfly.

Sephiroth had been thrust into the SOLDIER ranks, a kid alongside boys reaching out for adulthood and adults wearing the scares of their hot-headed youth. He'd been so different, so outside and Other; the other soldiers hadn't known how to respond to the strange kid with the hug sword in their mists.

Sephiroth remembered how hard he'd tried in the beginning to fit in, though he'd been terrified half the time and lost the other. Wutai was a world away from the familiarity of the labs he'd grown up in. He only ever felt safe on a battlefield, this at least he knew how to circumstance. He would have earned a Fail on social skills if this was one of Hojo's endless tests. He couldn't keep up with group dynamics, could barley hold a 'normal' conversation. His laughter always came too-late (and never real, never understanding, but he was only fourteen and trying so so hard to be one of_ them_).

Only he wasn't. It didn't take him long to discover the life he'd know, the childhood he'd never thought to question as strange, was abnormal. That he was abnormal. He'd been created to be a weapon, a tool, Hojo had told him so many times. He was a valuable science experiment that must always be aware of its limits and communicate every last ache or pain or irregularity so the lab assistance could report it and Hojo could study it; he'd been an expensive experiment after all, they didn't want it breaking.

After a time (a very short time cramped with humiliation after humiliation) he'd stopped trying to be one of _them_, stopped trying to 'fit in.' The eventual, disastrous first kiss with Cloud had only been the tail-end of years worth of similarly humiliating endeavors to be normal.

And then he'd met Genesis and Angeal. It hadn't been an immediate friendship; Sephiroth had already become too distant, too defensive, forever expecting mocking words (though he'd gotten much better at shutting the laughing mouths up). Even if Genesis and Angeal hurt him the most in the end, he would be forever thankful for their years of endless patience in opening him up enough to pursue Cloud –even if this hurt more than all the other hurts, at least he'd held it for a time.

Of course, after he became The General everything changed. He wasn't the Freak, the test-tube baby. He wasn't 'pretty' anymore; his hair didn't make him a girl or old. He was suddenly sexy, what everyone wanted. And thus began the categorization of human kind, because everyone, every last person, wanted something from him.

But no matter how much they wanted to touch and take and own, not one of them wanted_ him_. They didn't really want to know what kind of person the 'Silver General' was. And no matter how many thousands of people wanted to Be him, control him, use him, not one of them was _like him_. He was different, always and forever. And he didn't belong.

But he'd always hoped, always wanted deep down, so far down in the folded places of his being that Hojo could never rip them out with the endless tests and flippant dehumanization, deep in the secret cracks of his heart where the poisoned words of sneerer or sycophant could never reach, he'd _wanted_: to be loved. Clique in the extreme, but there it was. Unacknowledged and so ridiculous and unachievable that Sephiroth laughed at himself. As if anyone could love a monster. They loved his face to be sure, and he'd thought Angeal and Genesis…

(Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me)

(He'd been lied to once…)

Can the human heart keep trusting indefinably? Does there come a time when the hurts, the betrayals override even the most innocent of overtures, shutting down, shutting out, curling up into itself like a beached snail, refusing to let even a glimmer of hope in for fear of being ripped to shreds again?

If he belonged then they wouldn't have left him (and they all had once: Genesis, Angeal, Vincent, Cloud, Lucrecia, Gast). If he'd deserved love, been capable of being loved, then why was he so alone? The evidence of his deficiencies was before his eyes.

Love, the love like he'd imagined (wanted needed would have done anything anything anything for) with Cloud, wasn't meant for the likes of him. He knew that now, had always know, he'd just forgotten for a moment, a breath (too fucking short, not enough time).

Cloud had been _his_ (in his head) for a moment, a blink of the eye, the flashing of a photographer's bulb. Cloud who had come with his too-old eye and his Understanding, and stirred up hopes and dreams in Sephiroth he'd never even dared whisper to the night. Cloud who he'd only met a handful of times. Cloud who he'd loved before he had a name to go with a face, a pale pale hand.

Cloud was an ideal, and like all ideals, Sephiroth loved him even without having known him. Who was Cloud Strife? Did it matter? Or did it only matter what Cloud Strife meant to_ him_? Love was selfish, love was limited, love was cruel, love was temporary, love was despair. Love ended. The hurt was eternal. Love was work. And if Cloud had been here, right here, in his arms, in his bed, the grumpy face he woke up to every morning, he could have fallen out of love. But this. This frozen, crystallized, polished and polished and polished remembrance he'd sculpted into a monument in honor for his lost ideal, this was so so much harder to let go of. He didn't want to. At times he thought it was all he had in the entire world –the memory of the only one who'd ever come close to being _his_. The memory of the arms he'd fallen to sleep in believing he'd finally found home. Finally found that somewhere, someone, he belonged to and who belonged to him.

Someone was screaming in his head. Sephiroth's hands clenched knuckle-white about the edge of his desk. The thoughts which had been gorging upon him like vultures upon a kill, ripped away in the face of the physical pain. He was spared a brief moment of relief that he was alone in his office –Zack was back in the apartment with the slowly healing Angeal, and wasn't here to witness his General's moment of panic—before sinking under the tsunami of pain.

What was this? Was it some delayed result of one of Hojo's tests? But no, Hojo hadn't been around in weeks, and Sephiroth had been spared the dreaded session with his 'father' of late.

Agony sank claws into his skull, tearing great chunks of bone and flesh off as it writhed within Sephiroth like a dying beast. And then he suddenly knew. Knew as he'd always known the voice whispering to him in the dark watches of the night had not been natural. The voice screaming, banging about the walls of his head, dying in agony, was Jenova.

He had a brief moment of sharp, blinding victory and reeling relief that she was dying dying dying, before he blacked out.

…

It frightened her. But then, Aeris was often afraid. The world was a terrifying place for a pretty faced ex-Shinra lab rat.

It wasn't enough that she was an almost-woman living alone with her mother in the slums in possession of an attractive body, she also had her Watchers who she could never, ever, escape. Wasn't even sure she wanted too sometimes when they pulled rough-handed, foul-mouthed, men off her, saving her from a darkness she had long since been taught –with her eyes and ears only thanks to the Watchers—but you couldn't escape the mutilation of innocence under the Plate. But after they'd freed her from violation, time and again, she would have to meet their cold, uncaring eyes, and be reminded of yet another thing she feared –capture. But they never took her. Not yet. And she feared that too, their unpredictability. Tseng with his half-caring, Rude with his shielded-eyes (she wasn't quite sure if they were cold or the almost-human of Tseng and Cissnei behind those shades), Reno with his cocky attitude, his don't-give-a-shit words that were only the casing over the bitter pill of Turk, always and forever.

She dreamt of white labs, smelt the stale air of a holding cell, dug her fingers into her arms where she remembered the needles once sliding. But that was Before. Before mother died, before she learned the new fear of running, running, running (had she even had a nightmare free night in ten years?).

She dreamt of capture and torture unimaginable…on the nights she wasn't hearing the Planet screaming in her head.

She loved Gaia, and she hated her. It was hard to love something unconditionally when it was a source of such pain and terror.

She knew what she was: Creta. Ancient. Chosen race. Planet's beloved child. She wasn't likely to forget. But for all that Shinra glorified her race and sought its secrets (dead, dead secrets that had died when they'd murdered her mother), Aeris knew what she was (inhuman, never, ever the same, always alone, alone, alone…) and it was no perfect descendent of angels.

Perhaps once, long ago, before Mako power and the Planet's slow, painful death, it had been a blessing to hear the Planet, be able to commune with the Lifestream itself. Now it was a curse. But still she loved her, Gaia, the Mother, the Womb, the skin upon which all life tread. It was not the Planet's fault it was being murdered. But, oh, oh, oh, how it had_ hurt_ to walk under the sky! It had been so blue. Too blue. Too big. She felt as an ant might when faced with a towering mountain of human: insignificant and vulnerable. And the sky had been crying, screaming and twisting and writhing. It did not matter that she knew the human name for the phenomenon (thunderstorm); she had felt thunderclouds roll over Midgar since and they had been nothing like what she'd felt that day her mother and her had found the sky.

She had not ventured forth from Midgar since. She'd been too afraid. But now, unexpectedly, unaccountably, all had changed. A boy-man with too-blue eyes and a smile like the sun she'd never properly seen, had walked, or rather, fallen into her life. Zack. There was something about his name, the way it rolled off her tongue like summer honey. She cheeks reddened at the thought (strange, she'd thought she'd lost all innocence). Zack who made her feel impossibly safe. Zack who smelt like wild, unexplored lands she'd never before wanted to see, but now tugged at her with the tantalizing dream of discovering them all with Zack's arms strong and steady around her. Zack who had promised to show her the sky, his eyes telling her he'd give it to her if she asked, all those huge, untraceable miles of it. Just for her.

Zack made her feel young, like a little kid full of hope, and old, like a woman fully mature and ready to face her desire and complicated heart full-on. She was neither; just a scared girl not quite a woman not quite a child, lingering in the middle somewhere, full of potential, full of hesitancy and fear.

The Planet shivered. Aeris felt icy fingertips crawl down the road of her spine. Something had happened, something big, and the Planet was still reeling from the repercussions. It had been some minutes since Aeris had felt the first ripple of what would become an avalanche. It raised the hairs on her arms, heated her face like a desert sun, filled her nostril with the rich smell of black earth, and danced along her nerves like a school of fish. She wanted to cup her hair and pull until her roots burned and the Planet's voice, which shot through her body like an electric wave, let her be.

She buried her hands in the dirt of her flower patch, feeling the patchwork of thread-thin roots where they knit the soil like stubborn fists, refusing to give into logic and die like everything else in naked, dead Midgar.

Her Watcher shifted in the shadows and Aeris pulled herself together, piece by piece in a practiced patchwork of serenity and gave the Watcher the shy, sheepish smile they would be expecting.

Don't be interesting. Do nothing out of the ordinary. Pretend to be human. Those were the rules she survived the last ten years of this over-rated freedom upon.

Shinra was always watching, but as long as she continued to make herself nothing more than a pretty face with an uncanny green thumb she would be safe. Or maybe she wouldn't and this was all a lie. A mind-fuck. The breath she could look back at before the storm with both longing and bitterness that it had always was too brief, too little time, while Hojo laughs and laughs and laughs at her nativity. Or maybe it was so much more complicated than that. For why, why, why hadn't she been taken long ago? Tseng knew where she was, had known for years, but he never came for her. His Turks (for they were his now that the old Head was gone) had_ protected_ her, had never laid so much as a finger on her. She didn't understand. Maybe Tseng did care. What did it matter? In the end he was a Turk, and a Turk was nothing if not loyal. Tseng could pretend to be her friend. He could talk to her with his soft, deceptively gentle voice and buy a flower 'for the road' from her. He could pretend all he liked, but in the end Turks had as little humanity as she. She'd once heard Turks compared to as cockroaches, she wasn't so sure the moniker was far off.

….

Vincent misses 'their' spot on the thirty-third floor –what had been the roof of the Shinra Tower in those days—when he misses anything at all. It's all gotten messed in his head, jumbled around like a giant had broken apart his past into jigsaw pieces that he couldn't quite put back together again.

He knows he used to sit up on the roof with Veld in the old days (and other Turks as well, but mostly his old partner). They would look down on Midgar, the City of Neon, the City of Hope. It would be sprawled out in clean lines of steel and concrete, lit like an exotic gem by the neon lights and the green green glow of the new Mako Reactors that still shown with the arrogance of newly-raised buildings. The sky was above them, the stars still clear and sharp and glaring through the city lights. That was before the Mako clouds stole their brilliance though. Below was the Plate, full of history, the new shinning City of Light built atop the old. Down under the Plate you could always duck into a dusty old bookstore, run your fingertips over the sturdy marble of buildings whose stories ran past the stretch of living memory. There was the old church too, and people still visited it from time to time, mostly the old who still remembered the world Before. To a young man like Vincent in his prime, high on life, the history under the Plate held little appeal; he was still too dazzled by the artificial beauty of New Midgar.

Vincent remembers how he used to sit, one long leg dangling recklessly over the rooftop, Veld leaking smoke out of his mouth like a dragon as he lit up over and over again, a hopeless chain smoker even then. They'd sit and watch the city they'd fallen in lust with, raised high above her like kings enthroned upon the power of Shinra which could do no wrong.

That was before though. When the Turks were still the top of the food chain that every lowly grunt and starry-eyed civilian boy wished they could be. That was when the blue suit meant more than murderer and spy. That was when the Turks were the elite, the Police of the World, exulted hands of Shinra the Savior that had given the world light and heat and power. That was before SOLDIER.

Sure, the Turks still cleaned up Shinra's dirty messes –but those had never been quite so twisted then—and the Turks still slunk into the shadows to take out backstabbers and rivals and liabilities. But they also walked in the light of day and saved little kids from monsters, and caught the bad guys flashing across the bottom of the Television screen.

Vincent thought things might have started to change even before Nibelheim and the Jenova Project, but he couldn't remember. Jenova couldn't have been the start. A company didn't just pull something like human experimentation from its ass; Vincent and Sephiroth hadn't been the first humans Hojo had held under his knife. It had to have started somewhere, and Nibelheim wasn't it.

What did it matter though? Nibelheim was the beginning and the end for Vincent. Nibelheim where he'd first met Lucrecia, his goddess, his betrayer, the bullet in his back—(Oh how far the glass angel had fallen off her pedestal! Nothing more than shattered glass cutting into his palms now, and still he pressed the shards into his heart. My punishment).

Lucrecia: unattainable perfection. Rotten to the core.

Nibelheim was where he'd found her, made love to her, created a child with her, failed her, lost her, and met his son and come face to face with the blackness of her heart. He'd never had her to begin with though. He'd held her in his arms, yes, but she had never been his, and their moments together had been but an illusion. She'd never loved him; it had all been a fantasy in his own head.

And yet, even knowing she'd never been the idol he'd created, it didn't stop him from feeling like he was betraying her all over again when his thoughts drifted to the Turk. Tseng.

Lucrecia had never looked at him like that, never responded to his touch with such total and unconditional surrender. He remembered the way she'd looked up at him as he moved in her, whispering desperate words of love and worship in her ear. He hadn't seen it at the time –or maybe he had but hadn't wanted to accept. Her eyes had held indulgence and her smile was more than a touch amused. He'd been a distraction, an amusement, nothing more.

Not that he blamed her. He didn't expect her to return his feelings, he should be thankful for what he'd been given. But he wasn't, oh no. He could feign the martyr, the lover shunned who forgave all, but he wasn't. He smiled when he saw her on Hojo's arm, teased her on her new conquest, and pretended he was happy she was happy, but how could he be? She'd left him. It would have been one thing if she'd not loved him, but quite another to choose another man and flaunt her new lover shamelessly before him. He hated her. Needed her. Worshiped her. (Perfect perfect broken angel. I'll forgive you anything, anything, even this –spreading your legs like a whore to the highest bidder, selling anything on your climb to the top—just come back to me).

He could have forgiven her anything. Anything but what she'd done. She could have done anything she wanted with him, anything. But not to Sephiroth. Not _his son_. The figure of the glass angel had broken. He would always love her, but he could never forgive her. Never. Not for stealing his son, Sephiroth's childhood, happiness, innocence. Not for handing Sephiroth over to Hojo like a sacrificial lamb, one more rung in her ladder to success. There could be no forgiveness, not for this Lucrecia, you ask too much.

He'd had a few women since Lucrecia threw him away, a handful of short-lived romances and one-night stands as he tried to forget the woman who was growing fat with the child he'd thought was Hojo's.

(Why didn't you tell me, Lucrecia? It could have been so different! I could have…but then that's just what you didn't want wasn't it? _"If this only concerns me, then yes I'm sure!"_ You didn't want me involved, didn't want me trying to stop you from using your own child as an experiment. Oh Lucrecia, sweet bitter agony, why? Answer me!)

All long in the past, unchangeable, but he was stuck there right beside those memories, a prisoner to history. And here came this Turk with his soft soft skin, liquid dark eyes, and unbearably beautiful surrender, breaking apart the delicate balance of Vincent's sanity he'd only just been preserving.

Vincent couldn't stop himself from thinking about the Turk though in the weeks since the Incident (rape, rape, rape, you raped him, say it, taste it, remember it, monster, monster, forever and always). Nor could he stop the arousal curling in his belly when his mind flashed back to that night. He tried to assuage the guilt, it was only natural, his cock didn't care that the mouth it had been in had been unwilling. But it never worked. It was sick to get aroused by thoughts of remembered violation, even if he'd had no more control over the situation then Tseng.

Vincent had never been attracted to men, never felt more than a vague appreciation for a well maintained male body. And he'd never ever wanted to see Lucrecia, or any other woman, down on her knees before him, begging for his touch. But that's exactly what he wanted from Tseng, and he knew it was wrong, knew it wasn't him (or who he'd been Before), but still couldn't stop the desires.

Vincent tried to be human, but inside were the monsters Hojo had cursed him with forever pushing, screaming, writhing, grappling with him for control, making it so hard to even hear himself think over the madness in his head. Their desires bleed over into his own until he wasn't sure which parts were his and who'd he'd really been before Hojo ruined him.

Did he want to control Tseng? Yes. Undoubtedly. Where this fixation upon mastering another being came from though, he didn't know, and that terrified him. Almost as much as the thought of losing control to the demons again did.

Who was Vincent Valentine? He wasn't sure he knew anymore. Wasn't sure he wanted to become acquainted with his new self. He knew a few key things about the man who'd climbed out of the box: He was obsessed, he'd failed spectacularly, and he carried a shame that dug into the bones of his frame, scrapping claws of regret down his back. And lastly, he knew he hated the man staring out of the mirror at him.

That wasn't a very encouraging picture, but oh so accurate. And he hadn't changed in the months since his emergence either. He was still unhealthy devoted to a dead woman (though now he wanted to extract revenge upon her flesh, an eye for an eye she'd sentenced Sephiroth to endure, even as he still missed her like the best friend he'd never had), and he was still a failure, though now he could add a failure as a father to his list of sins.

Shame perched upon his shoulders like an ox collar about his neck, dragging his nose into the dirt. Useless. He needed you and where were you? What have you ever done for your son? He's suffered so terribly and you just keep disappointing him over and over again. Vincent couldn't seem to stop, couldn't seem to fix this, himself, anything. He was like a dog going back to its own vomit, again and again and again. (Get out of the mud, claw, drag, crawl yourself out of this mire and _help_ him! Fix your pathetic self already, you broken, fucked up, train wreck!)

Vincent's face was hidden deep within the red folds of his mantel, his eyes emotionless. He perched like some dark, tattered gargoyle atop a Junon rooftop, staring north across the sword-gray sea. The wind caught the red wings of his cape and threw it about like a child's streamer. Vincent remained unmoved. His thoughts miles away with the son he barely knew, but had already managed to dissolution. Sephiroth had already learned not to lean on his father's shoulder. The ex-Turk, former science experiment, had nothing to offer, and wouldn't be catching anyone's fall.

An explosion lit the western sky like a bonfire. Vincent's razor shape mind was already calculating the distance and every possible structure that could have provided such a sizable matchbox. It had come from the direction of the old fishing village, one click north, probably butting right up against the sea. But there were no buildings there. Vincent had scavenged the area enough times looking for the lost cadet (the one who'd captured his son's heart and taken it too his too-young grave); he'd long since memorized the terrain and turned over every possibly hiding place for signs of the dead boy.

Vincent was already moving. Jumps light as a cat's, footfalls soft like a prowling wolf's, cloak billowing behind him like a scarlet banner (the kind that used to march ahead of an army onto the battlefield before all flags became Shinra).

West he raced across the rooftops until there were no more roofs and then he sprinted across the ground that had long since had the green sucked out of it by the Reactors, until his metal-tipped boots were sinking into soft, wet sand as the tide came in and ran over beaches that had been hardened by the sun only minutes before. The sea soaked the hem of his cloak and sucked upon his footsteps like lead balls trailing behind them. Air singing with salt and heat filled his lungs and made him remember why he'd fallen in love with the mountains.

There was a body ahead, the sea eating at its boots like greedy fingers as it crept up the sands as the tide swiftly turned. No, there were two bodies. One was very red (blood?), no, leather dyed crimson. The other was a good deal smaller. And then he was upon them. He rolled the boy's form over while he cataloged all the features (hair so so gold under the summer sky, sticking up like arrogant mountain peaks. And oh, he'd seen the cadet's picture, studied it, memorized it, inhaled it. This, this was the face of the one who'd caused his son so much pain and brought Sephiroth back into his life, unlocking the sleeper from his coffin with a sled hammer of hope).

Cloud Strife, washed up like a piece of drift wood on the beach. And Vincent knew the other as well, a face almost as famous as his son's: Genesis Rhapsodos.

He'd thought the boy dead, long since, but he'd kept searching because it would be far far longer before the golden child's memory released his son. Vincent had nothing to offer Sephiroth but this. This hopeless search that made use of all the skills he'd honed in blood, this only could he still give Sephiroth. So he had kept searching, and now the impossible outcome, the one he'd long since abandoned thought of, occurred. He would bring home the keeper of Sephiroth's heart. His own soared at the thought. He'd not failed, not completely.


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: I am sorry for how far behind I am in responding to all the lovely reviews I've received. Please know that while I have had a terribly busy and exhausting last week at work, I read and treasured every review I was given. I will work hard on responding to reviewers this week, but I thought I wouldn't make you wait for the next chapter while I catch up :D So without further ado I present Chapter 20.

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 20

He'd spent a year of his life pretending to be someone else, someone he liked better. Maybe it was like they all said –Tifa, Cid, Reeve—in those comforting, delicate tones when he'd just found himself again: It wasn't your fault Cloud. Who can blame you for being a little confused after everything Hojo did to you.

Only…only he couldn't shake the feeling that it had been his fault, his_ choice_, to forget himself and become a person he wished, wanted, longed to be. (And there was jealously there too, don't try to deny it. Zack had everything. Was everything you ever wanted to be, and what were you? A grunt. A failure. Wash-out. Looser). For every grain of jealously there was an ocean of guilt (Zack died for you. For nothing. You were unworthy of every smile, every encouraging word, every concerned look: the worry crinkled about the edges of Zack's eyes, trying to hide it, always, but it was too much, too much even for him to conceal. Zack who would have felt so alone in the end. Betrayed by everyone, everything, with only a comatose kid he only really knew because they'd endured Hell together. Zack only cared about you because there was no one else to cling to at the end).

_Shh._ A gentle, butterfly light kiss on his forehead, callused thumbs pressing against his cheeks, jaw, tilting his head up to meet too-blue eyes. _Cloud, don't do this to yourself. Please. Don't you know? Don't you know I couldn't have loved you more if you'd slept in my mother's womb beside me? We're brothers Cloud. I'll never leave you. Never._

Zack. The smell of sun-backed earth, red, red ,red like copper, like blood, like the jungle floors of Gongaga. And the sky too, always the sky, inside his eyes, two blue pieces of it smiling down on him, holding too-too much: Too much care, too much worry, too much perseverance, too much fire, too much love. No one (not Hojo, not Angeal, not Sephiroth) could ever take the sky from Zack's eyes.

Cloud was lying on a bed. Had it all been a dream? Had Hojo really…? Or had everything before been one? Maybe he'd hallucinated it all and Zack was still alive, still dodging Shinra patrols and dragging a useless Cloud with him. Talking, always talking, as if that could fill the coldness, the bitterness of this world –four years, four years stolen, and Aeris, Aeris... wait for me.

The ceiling was grey, Cloud noted numbly. Maybe Zack had been able to sneak them into a town and they'd gotten lodging at a local inn. He hoped Zack would give him a shower. Streams were always so cold, and even though it was beyond humiliating to lay helpless as a rag doll while Zack washed him down, it was worth it to feel the warmth –the water, the heat of Zack's palms on him.

No. Something was wrong. He shouldn't be able to think this clearly. Before it had always come and gone, these moments of lucidity, and this one was far far too long.

He could move, he realized with both surprise and the sharp pain of truth (Zack was dead, you pathetic waste of life, dead because you killed him). It had all been real: The world dying, Vincent (he'd been so magnificent soaring like some forgotten raptor to his death), Sephiroth (don't think about him), and the experiments (again, no, no, can't, I will break, break, break. Gaia, Zack, save me!)

He wanted to laugh. Laugh until it turned ugly and crazed and he felt wetness in the back of his throat and tasted salt in the corners of his mouth. He wanted to laugh until he could forget _everything_; everything he'd done and hadn't done that had led him to this moment, this utter ruin of himself. (Did you know I'm me and I'm you? Did you know, Zack? I've got another you, for another world, inside my head? Did you know I loved you, so much, so fucking much I couldn't breathe without you? So much I stole pieces of you to stuff into my holes –so many holes. Brother, brother, all in my head, everything I'd ever wanted to be, to have, to be needed by. _We're friends right?_ You wouldn't have asked that if we'd been as close as brothers. Wouldn't have needed to remind yourself what you were sacrificing your freedom for).

_Cloud, stop it. Please buddy. It wasn't your fault. Don't do this to yourself…_

_Shut up Zack. For once, for once, don't try to make this better, don't lie to me._ (You lied Zack. You said it would be alright, but it never was again).

"...waking up?"

Cloud blinked. He didn't know how long he'd been floating on the stream of old thoughts. So old they'd carved grooves inside his mind, paths he'd tread a thousand times over the years since Zack's death. That voice, he knew that voice. If he could just piece together the jumble in his head….

_Kunsel_, Zack whispered, a hovering, protective presence standing at his shoulder, lying pressed up against his back. His support; a warmth more comforting then the sun on his face, wrapped all around him like the beloved blanket of childhood that always made you feel safe inside. Zack who was him, Zack who he was. Zack who'd he'd stolen a piece of and buried beneath his skin.

Cloud turned his head slowly to see hazel eyes staring at him with such a look of joy and hope he cringed away. He'd never deserved such a look, not when it came from Tifa or Denzel or the thousands of others who'd looked at him and seen Cloud Strife World Savior, Hero.

"Cloud? Cloud can you hear me?" Kunsel asked kneeling beside the bed Cloud had been laid out on. "Damn, kid, you have no idea…" Kunsel choked up, before forcing out a smile (just like Zack used to do, even though you both knew it would never be Ok, that you'd never really wake up from the nightmare). "I'm glad you're back, kid. We all thought…when you didn't come home after the SOLDIER exams…"

Cloud looked passed the remembered grief in Kunsel's eyes, over the kneeling SOLDIER's coppery curls, and into the eyes he'd last seen telling him everything they'd never said in words, everything those years they'd lived and expected to spend together as Oldest and Eternal in a world passing them by, had meant. The red eyes held not even a glimmer of that now. Just as this Zack could never be his Zack, so this Vincent would never be that Vincent. The jewel-bright eyes were guarded as they met his, the eyes of a stranger.

"…listening, Cloud?" Kunsel's worried voice cut off the self-pitying thoughts, snapping Cloud's gaze to the Second's again.

"Yeah," his voice was as creaky as an old tree limb. "I'm here."

Kunsel flashed him a relieved smile. "You gave us all a scare, Cloud. When Valentine first brought you in your skin was so cold I thought we'd lost you." Kunsel confessed, picking up Cloud's limp hand and chafing it between his own. "And then, when I saw Commander Genesis with you, I thought…" Kunsel's eyes trailed over to next bed and Cloud's followed. Auburn hair washed clean of the grey-streaks that had once lined it, lay splayed over a pillow. Genesis's eyes were closed and the expression on his face was one so full of peace Cloud felt envy wring his heart. How could a man who'd wronged so many find such forgiveness within himself?

"He's not woken up yet. He's fallen into a coma. We're not sure how deep it is, but it might be a long time before he wakes up again. If he ever does." Kunsel finished grimly.

"He will," Cloud stated with a conviction he could not explain. He knew the Goddess wasn't finished with Genesis yet. The Planet had healed him, both because of his choices and because she still had plans for him. Once she sunk her claws into you she never let go, Cloud thought with a dry, bitter amusement.

Kunsel gave him a sharp, searching look, but only answered, "Maybe you're right. Time will tell."

Silence yapped at their ankles after that, strained and heavy as the elephant slunk through the room. Finally Kunsel broke it and asked what Cloud knew had been coming: "Where were you Cloud? We search. For weeks. And none of us –not Zack and I, not Sephiroth, not even the Turks—could discover even a clue of what happened to you." Kunsel seemed to fumble for a moment, before steeling himself and staring pointedly into Cloud's eyes. "Valentine went back to search the place he found you Cloud, and he discovered…that lab. Cloud," Kunsel's eyes ran over Cloud's Mako-shinning ones, "What happened to you in that place?"

"Oh, this and that," he answered, his eyes unfocusing as Cloud/Zack remembers another asking these questions a lifetime ago on the shores of the sea. He shook the memory off, pulling his wandering concentration back to the present.

Cloud shrugged. He'd perfected the art of running. It's what he did. He just didn't deal, couldn't deal, so he ran.

Kunsel was still watching him closely and Cloud was thankful it was Kunsel confronting him and not Zack. Zack would have charge in, all heavy concern and anxious questions, and Cloud would inevitably crumble before it (his face pressed into the SOLDIER sweater, mouth hanging up, drool wetting the black fabric, Zack's voice a steady rumble against his cheek; his scent which could make Cloud's chest hurt just remembering it, cloaking him in comfort). No, Cloud did not want to look into Zack's eyes and describe to someone who should have been right there beside him in Hell what it was like to be Hojo's plaything.

Kunsel pulled back, giving Cloud a hooded look. His finger came up to trace the shape of his lips. Finally, "Later then. But Cloud, you're my friend and Zack's friend; we aren't going to let you bottle all this up too."

Cloud's eyes slid away, before snapping back to the Second when the full meaning of the words sank in. "Zack? No, you can't tell Zack, you can't—" He choked on panic. Zack couldn't see him like this. Not like this, when he didn't know who he was and everything was messed up in his head, split apart like two halves of the whole that had been sliced with an axe and couldn't find each other again.

"What are you on about?" Kunsel asked with a frown. "Of course I am telling Zack. I al—"

Cloud cut him off, latching on to Kunsel's wrist like a man possessed. "No! You can't you can't. Promise me you won't tell him. He can't know. And Seph—" Cloud couldn't even finish the horrifying thought. The image of Sephiroth seeing him like this and Cloud completely losing it, transforming into Zack, showing all the cracks Hojo had made in his physic (both now and before). Sephiroth wanted things from him. Things he couldn't be, do, endure. Not now.

Vincent's eyes had narrowed to slits, "Sephiroth has already been informed of your recovery." Disapproval dripped from the words, aimed at Cloud, at the very idea of keeping such information from a man who'd already suffered so much.

Cloud's breath got caught on the boulders in his chest. No. No. Sephiroth knew, he'd be expecting…expecting Cloud to come back. Come home. The fear tasted like bile, and he felt something he'd not suffered since the days of Geostigma overtake him: A panic attack.

And then it was being pushed down, swallowed with the bile, and Cloud smelt sun-backed mud and knew everything would be alright now. Zack, Zack who lied but lied so beautifully, had come to save him like he always did when Cloud was weakest.

Zack licked his lips, his mouth felt dust-dry as he stared into a face he'd not seen (not like this, clear of the smoky mirror of Cloud's control) in years that ran back into sunshine and felt like nostalgia. Back to the time Before. Before the world as he knew it ended and he was placed on a lab table, into a cage, by a man he'd trusted. Trusted so much the sorrow and righteous anger flayed his skin, knocked his bones together with the heat and power of it. (Seph, how could you? How could you? After Angeal and Genesis and all the shit Shinra put us through, how could you have fallen for their lies? And gods, I should hate you, but I can't, couldn't, not even when Hojo was cutting Cloud apart and I was burring alive in Mako. Not even when I felt the cold, cold steel of Masamune in my gut and looked into eyes just as cold and so dead, lit only with that sick, alien hate I couldn't believe even than was you. Not you.)

Kunsel. Kunsel who had loved him. Loved him while Zack ran high and proud, caught up in the clouds by Aeris's love. (Oh, Kunsel, I must have hurt you so so much. I am sorry. So sorry. And sorry I can't love you back, not like you deserve, not while Aeris breathes.)

"Cloud?" Kunsel asked, bewildered and a little scared by the dramatic shift in Cloud's features, the way he was staring at him _like that._

"Kuns," Zack croaked, before hastily amending the nick-name, "Kunsel. I…" There was so much he wanted, needed to tell his old friend, but couldn't…No, he had to. He had to stop this ridiculous secrecy Cloud had mired them in.

Zack's eyes caught a shifting in the shadows and saw what Cloud had not in his confusion. Tseng. Zack felt a snarl pull at his lips, but smothered it and trapped the words he wanted to cast like stones at that Betrayer in his chest.

There was a time Zack would have killed Tseng for what he'd done to Aeris. Zack had trusted the Turk –like a naive fool—to protect Aeris. Zack would have wrapped his hands about that deceptively slender throat once, but not now, not after he'd watched Tseng's blood splayed over the white marbles of the Ancient's Temple. Tseng had handed Aeris over to Hojo like an animal, and laid down his own life for her. Tseng was a good man. Tseng was a monster in human skin. Tseng had left them in Nibelheim, to Hojo's nonexistent mercies (Oh yes, Tseng, I saw you. I saw your back as you walked away). Zack would never forget the sins piled at the Turk's feet, but he forgave them all, in the end. Foolish perhaps, but then Zack would have forgiven Sephiroth for murdering Aeris, if only his friend had found himself again.

"Tseng." The word was saturated with too many complex, conflicting emotions for it to catch the air in anything more than a rasped breath.

A little frown line worked between Tseng's brows, "I don't recall a previous meeting, Cadet."

Zack laughed like a curse. "Of course you don't. It's not happened yet. Won't happen, because I'm going to stop you." He swore. There would be no Nibelheim, no critically injured private who'd just defeated the greatest SOLDIER of all time and snared Hojo's sick attention. This time around it wouldn't all be lies. He was going to save Cloud. He was going to piece back together the wreck Cloud's mind had become even if he had to destroy himself to do it.

"What are youtalking about Cloud?" Kunsel asked worriedly, staring at him like he'd lost his mind, which in some ways Cloud/Zack had. "You've never met Tseng before. What's going on?"

Zack smiled brittely. Oh how Cloud would rail at him for this, but he was never one for secrecy; sitting on things had always been Cloud's specialty. "I'll tell you Kunsel, I promise. But not with _him_ here." He jerked his chin at Tseng.

Zack Fair had been stripped of the last edges of his naivety (the ones left after Angeal had used him to commit suicide) in the Shinra Mansion's basement. It hadn't only been scientists who'd known the truth of Nibelheim. Not one Turk had been ignorant. Zack would never trust a Turk again. He didn't know who he could still trust, but it wouldn't be a Shinra lap dog.

Kunsel exchanged a silent look with Valentine and Tseng, but Zack really didn't care if they thought him mentally unstable or what other shit was being conveyed in that look. He bridled his tongue and waited in silence until Tseng had slipped out of the hotel room door, leaving the three (four counting Cloud, but that was just too messed up to contemplate) of them alone in the room.

"Alright Cloud," Kunsel started, favoring Zack with a heavy stare, "What's going on. And I want the truth this time."

Zack's lips pulled up into the shape of a smile, but it was only the ghost of one. He thought of all the hollow smiles he'd forced out –for Cloud—on their long (never ending) trek to Midgar. Cloud was right: he was a liar. But in his defense he'd lied to himself just as much as Cloud. It was shine false optimism out of his ass or succumb to the crippling despair, and he'd never been one to give in or give up.

"The truth?" He felt a glass-edged recklessness sweep him up on heady wings (Gods, how long had he needed this? Needed to talk, to get this all out? Forgive me Cloud, but I need this, we need this. We can't do this alone. Not again). "I figure the place to start would be introductions."

Zack forced his aching body up, ignoring Kunsel's cursing at his stubbornness. He'd endured so much worse than the few aches and pains left over after the Mako and Cure spells he'd no doubt received, had done their job. Zack swung his legs over the bed's side and poked himself in the chest. "Hi, I'm Zack Fair, SOLDIER First Class. Nice da meet cha!"

"You have awful taste in jokes," Kunsel managed after a strained breath of stunned silence, but his words wavered, weighed down by fear.

The delivery had been perfect, the voice, the way Cloud's tongue stressed the vowels in all the right places –a perfect Gongagan accent—the way Cloud's face adopted an alien animation, so much more intense and buoyant then his usual blankness. It was all just too strange; too perfect an imitation, too bizarre to be a joke.

"I've never been more serious," Zack's face fell into the weary, jaded lines it had adopted in the bowels of the Shinra Mansion. When even Zack Fair had lost his hope (for a time), when he couldn't bear to hear Cloud screaming through yet another experiment, when he'd held Cloud's unconscious body pressed against his own trembling one in the coldness of their cells (before the Mako tanks became their home and he lost Cloud to the addiction).

"It's me, Kuns, Zack." His voice broke. (I missed you. I thought about you every day we ran for our lives; wondering if you were still alive, paying to gods I'd been cursing for years that you'd keep your nose out of my fate –just this once Kuns, just this once don't know more then you should, don't get mixed up in this nightmare. I'd already failed everyone else, I couldn't bear for my fate to become yours). Zack never knew how Kunsel died, only that he had. It had probably been Meteor. Zack didn't like thinking about Kunsel still taking a paycheck from Shinra after everything that Company had done to him, to Cloud, to Sephiroth, to the Planet, but he supposed it was a better fate to die in good company –a city of tens of thousands going with you—then forgotten on a cliff top.

Cloud's memories of Zack's death were hazy and muddled with the aftertastes of Mako addiction, and Zack's weren't much better. He knows he'd entrusted his sword to Cloud and made him promise impossible, selfish things, but having a bullet in your brain can mess with your last memories. He knew he'd been scared. Not for himself (he'd been more at peace with himself in that moment then he'd been in years. He'd died a hero. Or so he'd thought until he'd woken up as Cloud). He wasn't a coward. Death hadn't frightened him, but he'd been terrified for those he'd left behind: Cloud who could barely hold his head up, his tongue tripping over words, his eyes unfocused above Zack. (Shinra would gun the kid down before he got one mile. He'd never make it to Midgar, never know freedom again). And Aeris, Aeris who'd he'd left five years before, who'd probably long forgotten him and moved on, but Zack (stuck in limbo both body and mind as the twenty year old whose last words to her had been a promise to see her soon) still believed Aeris was as perfect as a girl could get and was in forever-love with.

Zack was terrified of leaving them. He'd learned though literal blood, sweat, and tears, that life was cruel and unfair. He didn't want its claws tearing apart the two people Zack had clung tightest to. The two people he would inevitably fail the greatest and watch suffer with his death.

Cloud thought he wasn't a hero, but it was Zack who'd really failed. What had he accomplished in his life? He'd failed to save Angeal or Genesis or Sephiroth from the monsters they had let themselves become. He'd failed to save Cloud from Sephiroth's blade –had in fact _pushed_ Cloud upon it in his determination to save Sephiroth from himself, a plan that had backfired horribly—failed to save Cloud from years of torture, or the Mako addiction, or the divisions of Shinra soldiers no doubt standing between Cloud and the relative safety of Midgar.

Not this time. This time he was not going to fail. Just as Cloud had been given a second chance in this new world, so too had Zack. He didn't care about earning glory or fame or the title of Hero. All that seemed meaningless now. What matter was people, the people he'd loved and lost, the people who had suffered from Sephiroth's and Genesis's madness and Shinra's greed and never even known why.

"_Our enemy is all that creates suffering." _Angeal had told him once.

It was more complicated than that, life was more complicated than good vs. evil. Who drew the line? Who named this act evil and this one good? Who looked into the hearts of Sephiroth and Genesis at the end to see if they had known regret, true remorse for their actions? And what of Rufus who'd fought against the taint of Jenova, worked tirelessly to purge secret labs, destroy dangerous research and knowledge, and donated millions of Gil to help undo what his Company had wrought? Was Rufus Shinra evil or just a man who'd made mistakes in ignorance and greed?

Zack was no philosopher. He was just a SOLDIER. He'd told Cloud once the only thing he'd known how to do was fight, the same was still true. All he could do was fight. Fight for those he loved, fight against what his own heart told him was wrong, and make choices for good with the best of his ability.

He'd made mistakes in his past and others had suffered for them along with him. But Zack Fair didn't give up. He kept swinging until the end. He'd been given a mercy he didn't deserve, and he'd be damned if he squandered it! He had another chance, and he was going to use it in the name of all those he loved.

Zack came out of his thoughts to one pair of worried eyes and another wary. He snorted to himself; Valentine was a cautious son of a bitch. But the amusement died when he remembered seeing Sephiroth's eyes squint just so, the arch of a silver brow a mirror to his father's.

Zack missed Sephiroth like a sawed off limb. In some ways Zack had been closer to his General then his mentor. He'd been so young when Angeal left him in Wutai, just seventeen. He wondered many times over the years, when it was just him and Sephiroth with the shadow of Angeal pulling them together, what it would have been like to know Angeal as a man, as an equal. Zack called Sephiroth friend more easily than he did Angeal. Strangely Sephiroth and Zack had been equals, comrades, where Angeal had always been the teacher, and carried that distance of teacher-student with him to the end.

Zack pulled himself roughly from his memories. "I know it sounds crazy, and I can't explain how it all happened, but I really am Zack. Only not the one you know. Cloud and I…we came from another world, one that was destroyed. Our Planet sent us, I guess…um…to save this Planet." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He'd never been practically articulate and knew he was making a mash of this. "Yeah, sounds mental, I know."

Kunsel's mouth was a thin line of ill humor, and Zack knew the no-nonsense SOLDIER hadn't bought a word of it. "You are completely—"

"Understandable." Valentine's dark voice cut Kunsel off. "Your story matches what Strife told Sephiroth. According to Sephiroth, Strife claimed to have been sent from another Planet, one older then our own. It was how Strife explained his knowledge of Sephiroth's origins and my own history."

Zack noticed Valentine hadn't said whether or not he believed Cloud and his story, though. It seemed the gunman was withholding judgment for the time being. From everything Zack had seen of Valentine in Cloud's memories, he'd say Sephiroth's belief in Cloud weighed heavily in Valentine's judgment, even against something as crazy as world traveling.

Kunsel whipped around at Valentine's words. "What? You're actually buying into this crap?"

Valentine raised a brow. "I have not developed an opinion as yet, but your General is, as you put it, 'buying into this crap.'"

Kunsel's mouth snapped shut and his eyes narrowed at Valentine. Zack didn't think the opinion of Sephiroth would mean nearly as much to Kunsel.

Kunsel turned back to Zack, his still slitted eyes running over the features of the face staring back at him –Cloud's face. "Regardless of the validity of your claim, that doesn't change that fact that you are_ not_ Zack Fair."

"I am." Zack's words grew steel and beat like hammers against the denial in Kunsel's eyes. Zack Fair had never been one to give in without a fight. He had the confidence to think he could beat the odds, and the skill and heart to back it up. Kunsel was challenging his word, and Zack would meet the doubt head-on.

Kunsel jerked back from the obstinate words, blinking in confusion at the face that was Cloud's and was wholly not. Cloud had never sounded so confident, almost to the point of cockiness, in himself; never been that _proud_ of his name, his face, who he was, to flash back at Kunsel with all the arrogance and star-edged luster of lightning. That had been pure Zack. But that was impossible, it couldn't be…

Zack softened in the face of Kunsel's confusion and mounting fear. "Kuns, you don't have to worry, your Zack, the Zack of this world is safe. He has nothing to do with me or how I got inside Cloud. He was never touched by Hojo."

Valentine sucked in a shocked breath, though his face did not look entirely surprised at the dropping of Hojo's name. There had been a science lab discovered after all.

"Hojo?" Kunsel's eyes swung between the two pensive men, caught in dark memoires the very name of the monster caused to shiver down their spines. "He's the Head of the Science Department, the mastermind behind the SOLDIER program, what would he want with one cadet? No offense Cloud, but you weren't exactly a big fish to fry. The Turks didn't even know your name, less that you and Sephiroth…" he trailed off.

Zack cocked his head at Kunsel. "First, I'm Zack not Cloud. Cloud's here," Zack tapped his skull, "But he's having some trouble adjusting, you could say, and won't be around for this. Second, Hojo didn't need to know our name, all that mattered is that I….or Cloud really, presented ourselves to him on a golden platter and caught his interest by...well...it doesn't matter. We made some mistakes and Hojo took advantage of an opportunity."

"So the Mako…" Kunsel gestured to Zack's eyes.

"Hojo." Zack answered with a grimace.

Kunsel pursed his lips, an expression Zack recognized from when his friend entertained deep thoughts. Seeing it gave him hope Kunsel would accept his farfetched story. Valentine's face was less speculative since Zack mentioned Hojo's name. The gunman was walking evidence of just what lengths Hojo could stretch the human body and do the impossible. Sealing two minds within one body wasn't so different from the demons Valentine carried.

Kunsel however, was less familiar with the scientist's depravity. "Look Cloud, um, Zack, you want me to believe you came from some other world and then Hojo did some experiment or something on you and what? You developed a multiple personality disorder?"

Zack tried for a smile that came out flat, "Well anyone could develop a disorder around Hojo." He bit his lip, sighing, "No, I'm not Cloud in any shape or form. I_ am_ Zack Fair, or a part of him. The part that was scared for his friends while he lay dying in the mud, the part that couldn't let go, couldn't leave them after all I hadn't done…." he trailed off. The past swallowed him for one long blink of the eye, enclosing him in its dark, dark throat, before he surfaced again. "I can't explain what happened. Maybe it was Cloud's Mako addition –Mako is a refined form of the Lifestream so…" he shrugged. "Or maybe it was something Hojo had started in the labs and got finished on that cliff top. I don't know. The why doesn't really matter, just the reality."

Kunsel shook his head, "None of this is making sense."

"I didn't expect it too." Zack whispered to the ceiling, before dropping back onto the bed, arms spread eagle. "I'm no scientist, just a soldier that got caught up in a lot of things I didn't understand. If you don't want to believe me then that's your prerogative, but you asked for an explanation and that's the best I can give."

It was Valentine who answered. "I find your story incomplete. There are several things you have hinted at which I would like you to expand upon. However, the facts you have presented are enough for the moment, and I will withhold judgment for now. You have unquestionably undergone a grueling ordeal and are in need of more rest." With that said, Valentine slipped from the room with only a short nod in Kunsel and Zack's direction.

Kunsel ran a hand over his face. When the hazel eyes looked up again they locked with Zack's anxiously watching blues. Zack could deny it all he liked, but he desperately wanted Kunsel to believe him. He wanted his friend back.

Kunsel stared at him a moment before suddenly lunging across the distance separating them and scooping Zack's smaller frame into his arms. "Cloud it's good to have you back," Kunsel breathed into his hair, squeezing him so tight Zack's chest's hurt. "We'll figure it out. I promise. Whatever Hojo did, whatever's going on we'll fix this. You're back, that's all that matters." Kunsel pulled back to look into Zack's eyes again. "You should've heard Zack's voice when I told him we'd found you. I wish I could have seen his face." Kunsel smiled wistfully.

Kunsel was pretending their entire conversation had never happened. Zack swallowed, pulling away from the embrace. It was selfish and ugly, but he wanted Kunsel to see_ him_, Zack, not Cloud. Stupid and petty in the face of everything, but there all the same. Zack wanted Kunsel to know this was Zack; he wanted one last chance to speak to his friend. He wanted the chance he'd never gotten to say goodbye.

"Kuns," Zack croaked, bringing their heads closer again and pressing his forehead into Kunsel's. "Kuns, it's Zack. It's Zack."

Kunsel jerked away from the touch, but Zack followed him, seeming unable to help himself from grasping hold of the Second's sweater. "Kunsel it's me. I need…I didn't…I never meant to leave, I should have—"

"Stop Cloud. Just stop it!" Kunsel cried, pushing at Zack's shoulders, trying to break the SOLDER's hold. But Zack was relentless and wouldn't release him. He had to make Kunsel understand how sorry he was for leaving him alone, for never loving him enough, never loving him the right way. It didn't matter that this wasn't the same Kunsel; it smelt like his Kunsel, sounded like his Kunsel, felt like his Kunsel, and Zack was too lost in the grip of memories for anything else too matter.

"Kuns I'm sorry. I never wanted, never wanted…" An iron band seemed to press into Zack's chest until he couldn't breathe. He tasted the wetness of tears. "Kuns please, please, I can't." He didn't know what he was saying anymore, only that it hurt. It all hurt so much and he wished Cloud was there, but he'd stolen his friend's body and Cloud was drifting, drifting inside them, out of reach, hiding away for the reality he'd awoken too.

Kunsel had stopped struggling against Zack's grasping hands when he heard the broken note in Cloud's voice. It wasn't Cloud's fault he was frightening Kunsel with his insistence on being Zack. It wasn't Cloud's fault he'd been hurt terribly and lost himself. What kind of friend would Kunsel be to deny Cloud comfort when he was so obviously shattering?

Zack gasped into the strong warmth of Kunsel's shoulder as the Second pulled him closer. Zack wanted to weep, weep like he hadn't wept in all those months of running and forcing himself to be strong for Cloud, be the Hero, the Savior. He wanted to weep for himself –the life that had been stolen from him—and for the ruin of Sephiroth, the breaking of Cloud, the murder of Aeris, the betrayal of Tseng, the abandonment of Kunsel.

But he trapped the grief inside, stuffing the tearing sensation in his chest away. He'd been forced to be strong for so long he didn't know how to stop. A part of him just wouldn't let him show such weakness in front of Kunsel, in front of anyone. He'd molded himself into the unbreakable hero, the one that never gave in or gave up no matter the odds, and didn't know how to be someone else.

So Zack lifted himself up, out of Kunsel's embrace, because that was what he did, who he was. He'd been given a second chance. He'd been given redemption, and that was nothing to cry over.

Kunsel didn't loosen the tight circle of his arms until he felt Cloud pulling away. He watched Cloud wipe at dry eyes and crack a smile that made his gut twist as he was reminded yet again of Zack.

Zack offered his friend a watery smile, "You've always been there for me, haven't you?"

"I'll always be here, Cloud." Kunsel whispered. "We're friends."

Zack laughed, and it wasn't entirely devoid of humor. _We're friend's right?_ He'd said something very similar to Cloud once himself. Strange, the way the world worked.

"Yeah," he replied. And then, because he couldn't stop himself, "And it's Zack, Kuns."

Kunsel flinched and Zack's smile dropped. "Hey buddy," he settled a hand on Kunsel's shoulder, "I get it. I guess it's alright if you call me Cloud for now."

"Right," Kunsel said, slanting Zack a glance that didn't look comforted.

Zack looked away, scratching his chin, hating how awkward it suddenly felt between them. He still had so much to say…but now he was thinking clearly again he realized most of it would be meaningless to this Kunsel. The one he needed to act as confessor was far beyond his reach.

"You should get some rest," Kunsel interrupted the depressing thoughts.

"Yeah, Ok," Zack agreed without much enthusiasm, but he didn't try to deny his exhaustion.

"I'll stay here, kiddo," Kunsel promised. The Second made a move as if to pat Zack's shoulder, but pulled back at the last moment as if afraid to touch the disturbed boy (man, Cloud and he had long since lost any innocence of boyhood despite the body their two old souls housed).

Zack pretended Kunsel's hesitancy didn't hurt, just as he pretended he was cool with the friend he just wanted back calling him another's name, and refusing to see _him_. He wondered if this was how Cloud had always felt when people had looked at him and seen Zack. Despite the morose turn of his thought, sleep found him quickly, pulling his heavy lids down and sinking him under the blessedly mindless ocean of dreams. Kunsel was a comforting, protective presence in the chair beside him.

…

Angeal ran the pad of this thumb down the glass, staring down at Midgar sprawled drunkenly below him, staring at nothing. Genesis was 458 miles away, 110 minutes by helicopter, half a day's drive on the pristinely maintained highway between Midgar and Junon. It would have taken him three hours on the wing he no longer bore -the mark of a monster, the freedom of a bird. Of course all this contemplation was meaningless since Sephiroth would tackle him before he got out the door.

Angeal's mouth twitched in a short-lived smile at that thought. His lips fell into the grim line they'd adopted months ago, a well worn path he wasn't sure he knew how to step off of now. He felt very much like a bird that had had its wings clipped. Not that he blamed Sephiroth and Zack, they were only trying to keep him safe, and it wasn't them who'd deserted Shinra and gotten themselves on the most wanted list. But that didn't make days and days of confinement in Sephiroth's tightly secured apartment any easier to swallow.

He wanted to feel the wind on his face. He could live with the grounded winds that played close to Gaia's skin, but he longed for the ones that blew in from the black spaces between stars. He longed for the aerial views he'd taken for granted and cursed while he had. He wanted to taste again the insides of clouds, and feel the sky shake with thunder in his bones as a force more powerful then Shinra threw him and Genesis about like dolls as they rode the storms recklessly, exhilaration and life pumping through their veins.

Sephiroth was mumbling to himself again. Angeal signed, staring at the eyes reflected in the glass. He could still trace the dark marks that circled them like bruises even two weeks after his 'awakening' as Zack had labeled it with a grin that did not touch his eyes. At least Sephiroth had stopped threatening to run away to Junon and the cadet, Strife, his father had rescued. And there was another change (on top of Sephiroth, _Sephiroth_, falling in lust/obsession with someone). Vincent Valentine, Sephiroth's long lost father had apparently crawled out of a coffin and back into the land of the living.

Angeal wished Valentine had held off giving Sephiroth the news of the cadet's discovery until the General could actually_ do_ something about it. Of course these bitter thoughts might have stemmed more from the second piece of news the ex-Turk had delivered –Genesis's critical condition—then the helpless restlessness eating at Sephiroth who clutched his PHS in a grip so tight Angeal swore he could spot cracks in the previously shinny device.

Angeal did not know how he felt about the cadet's discovery, didn't really have much time to ponder it as consumed with worry for Genesis as he was. But he couldn't help the knife of jealously he felt for Strife. Why did the boy, a person he'd never meant, that only mattered for the worth he held in loved one's eyes, have to be found whole and relatively healthy while Genesis, his Genesis, lay entrapped within the confines of his mind, languishing in a coma he may never….

Angeal slammed the thought down. Valentine, Kunsel, Tseng, none of them were doctors. Angeal would hold off his panic until a professional examined Genesis, and then….and then…he wasn't going to think about what he'd do if he learned Genesis would never wake again. No doubt his passive desertion from Shinra would look tame in comparison.

"Anyone up for a game of slap jack?" Angeal sighted a look over the line of his shoulder at Zack who was wearing the only real smile he'd seen in what felt like years, and dangling a deck of cards in his hands.

Angeal felt the iron hand of anxiety loosen about his heart –just a bit. The picture of Zack's face when he learned of Cloud's discovery was branded in his mind. Zack's face had looked like it'd been bathed in sunrises. And the grin splitting his face (the one from all Angeal's memories of the Puppy) had reached his eyes. Zack could never be the adolescent Angeal had left behind in the dust that day in Banora, the one he'd stripped the innocence from. But Zack was like a child: He had a truly remarkable ability to bounce back from even the most traumatizing of events. Angeal knew Zack would come to the other side of this darkness and thrive. That was just the sort of remarkable individual he was.

Angeal allowed the warmth of that smile to pull him away from the cold glass. He settled himself beside Sephiroth who was still wound tight as a bow string. He placed a hand on his old friend's shoulder, startling the General who'd not even twitched at Zack's completely ridiculous suggestion of a card game. Though not so ridiculous when one caught the sly, satisfied curl of Zack's lip as he watched Angeal's arm embrace Sephiroth who, after a moment's hesitation, leaned into the strong shoulder.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: Just a note on the direction this story is headed. I am aware that many of my readers are anxious for me to hurry this story along to the eventual Cloud/Seph reunion. But, honestly, that isn't going to happen for a couple more chapters, and this story actually has a good chunk still to tell. Hojo still needs to be dealt with, as do the majority of Shinra's problems, not to mention Cloud who still has a ton of issues to sort out. Yes, there's lots of angst because I love it, but I always love endings with hope, which is what this one will have. Sephiroth and Cloud's reunion is coming, but if they were thrown together now it would be a disaster because Cloud's just too much of a mess right now to handle Sephiroth, and would end up hurting him.

So yeah, it's a bit slow on the start up again. I am sorry if that bothers you. But I needed to get a grip on these characters' personalities again, and I am going to write this story the way it's telling me to write it.

I just wanted to get that out of the way in case anyone is wondering where this story is going in the future.

A hug thank-you to everyone who has stuck by this story even after the long hiatus, and especially to those of you who have honored me with your thoughts and constructive criticisms in reviews. It is you who have given me the kick in the behind needed to keep at this story despite a ridiculously busy life :D

Happy reading!

This Silent Sacrifice

Chapter 21

Cloud stared at the sleeping figure of the SOLDIER. The bow of Kunsel's mouth had slackened, and Cloud could see the pink of a tongue through the sagging bottom lip. Kunsel seemed to be one of those blessed people who didn't drool in their sleep. If it had been Cloud's head propped so awkwardly between shoulder and chair back, he was sure there would have been a little line of moisture adorning his chin by now.

Cloud was faintly amused by the nonsensical directions this thoughts had taken. The humor fell away all too quickly though as what the SOLDIER's presence represented resonated with Cloud again. He was free, but at what price? Kunsel and Vincent had already informed Zack and Sephiroth of his discovery. They were waiting for him. They were waiting for a Cloud that no longer existed, maybe never had in Sephiroth's case. Cloud didn't know what Sephiroth saw when he looked at him, but it wasn't the truth. It couldn't be.

Cloud felt Zack stir at the direction his thoughts had taken, and forced himself to stop the self-destructive turn; it only served to hurt Zack. But that didn't change what he'd decided to do. There really wasn't any other choice.

Zack and he had argued fiercely for some time as Kunsel slept on, unaware of the battle of wills taking place in the body on the bed.

Cloud had woken up to cool moonlight staining the walls in fanciful shapes, and known he'd been sleeping for a good number of hours. His body still felt stiff, and he rubbed at the joints of his elbows where the needles had pushed the Mako like fire into his blood. But overall it was nothing he could not endure.

Cloud eased himself from the bed, careful not to awaken the sleeping SOLDIER. Zack was still shouting at him in his head, telling him he was making a mistake, but Cloud was too stubborn to be moved. His lips twisted when he realized he was still wearing the cadet uniform he'd been captured in. That would be the first thing to fix, right after getting hold of some weapons.

His boots were set side-by-side against the hotel room's wall, and Cloud shuffled softly over to them. He hiked one under each armpit, sweeping his eyes over the room one last time, gaze lingering on Kunsel's figure for longer then was wise.

_Cloud, you're being an idiot!_ Cloud brushed Zack's warning away, and turned his back on Kunsel.

He'd collected over 1000 Gil since his little trip across worlds, thanks to the men he'd murdered and cleaned out in the slums months ago. He'd been paranoid enough to keep the money on him at all times –along with the two knifes he'd flinched which the scientist had unfortunately relieved him of, but they'd been more interested in his body then the cash in his wallet. It was enough to get him a ride out of Junon. He hadn't, couldn't, think any further than that.

Cloud Strife was running away. Again. And Zack was banging about between the walls of his head –trapped, trapped, trapped—and couldn't do a thing to stop him. It was all very simple in Cloud's mind (was more of a mess then anything he'd ever faced. Gaia, but it was so fucking hard to think straight! If he could only clear his head…) he couldn't let Zack or Sephiroth see him like this. And if he stayed here, stayed with Kunsel and Vincent, he knew the choice would be taken from him. They wouldn't understand his reluctance (desperation) to keep this from Zack and Sephiroth. If it had been Cloud's choice no one would have ever known just how broken he'd become.

Cloud slit the hotel room's door open, peeking around the frame to play eye-spy with a Turk and an ex one. He couldn't see Tseng's crisp, straight-backed form loitering outside the door, nor Vincent lurking about the shadows like a great bat, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Still though, he'd just have to deal with them if they chose to confront him. He wasn't a weak unenhanced cadet anymore; he could handle a tail, even one as skilled and inhumanly-powerful as Vincent.

Cloud slipped out the door, shutting it with a soft click, and loped down the dimly lit corridor. It didn't escape his notice that he was walking more like Zack then his usual slow, almost apologetic ramble –he always walked like Zack when the air smelt of heat and up-coming battle. But he buried the knowledge deep under the mission. He had to focus on getting out of Junon, not getting swept away in self-deprecating thoughts.

Cloud made it across the street before Vincent emerged like a ghost from the moon-dark shadows. Vincent's hair swallowed the pale light, casting back nothingness. His red eyes had that feline night-shine to them which would have reminded Cloud of a cat's if their pupils had been split. But what struck the breath from Cloud's lungs was not the eeriness of his ex-lover, but the ridged lines of that pale pale face. This truly was a stranger staring back at him; his face as closed as a fist.

"Running away?" Vincent's voice was sharp as a serpent's tooth.

Cloud didn't answer. He wasn't going to ask forgiveness. Not this time. Not for saving himself. Cloud made to shoulder past Vincent's unmoving figure, but was halted by the unforgiving shackle of a metal hand upon his bicep.

"You're not even going to tell him goodbye, are you?" Vincent demanded, voice hot and righteous. They were the words of a father protecting their child from anything, anyone seeking to harm.

Cloud had recognized it before, but it wasn't until that moment he truly understood what it meant to have Vincent be a stranger to him. No, more than a stranger. The Vincent staring at him, with eyes as severe and brittle as the Planet's bones, wasn't the one who'd risen out of the box to AVALANCHE peering in. This one held the mace of Father in his hands and wasn't afraid to bring the full weight of his punishment down on the heads of those who hurt what was his to protect.

Cloud was suddenly, shamefully aware of how often he'd taken Vincent's support for granted. Cloud had always been the leader, and Vincent, Tifa, Barret, they were the ones who got his back, caught him when he fell again and again. He _expected_ Vincent to step aside and let him pass merely because he said to. That was just how it was. If Cloud said 'leave it' then the others would back off, give him space they wouldn't have granted anyone else. And here was this Vincent not fitting into the unspoken rules. It threw Cloud, jarred him like a bad landing.

"Well, Fair?" Vincent prodded at the disjointed bone of Cloud's poor fall.

Cloud jerked at the metal hand holding him (his Vincent never would have tried to physically restrain him. Never.) "It's Cloud," he snapped with a glare at the not-Vincent.

"Ah," Vincent released him. "The famous Strife." Cloud couldn't help flinching at the words (and oh, but they'd been dipped in mockery!). "He told me about you. I'd gotten the impression you weren't a coward, but I see I was mistaken."

Cloud couldn't help the sneering twist of his lips. They'd done this too, though of course Vincent didn't remember, but you didn't spend a decade in friendship without earning a few snapshots of blinding, venomous arguments. And given their two personalities, both with the tendency of bottling things until they exploded –violently—the nasty, cutting words had a way of building up and simmering, earning interest. "You're one to talk of cowards," Cloud spat, a sunburst of rage at Vincent's too-true words not heading the warning in the back of his head. "Hiding away in a_ coffin_ while the world passed you by. Real brave of you, Vincent."

Vincent, his Vincent, would have lashed right back at Cloud. They would have kept up a pointless battle of tongues for a few short, vicious moments before both coming to their senses and either apologizing with a look, a touch, or stalking away to mutually brood over their churning resentment for a few days before making up again.

But this wasn't that Vincent. And for all this one's sacrosanct anger at Cloud running out on his grieving son like a high-class con-artist, underneath all that was still the man who was chained by guilt and remorse. Who used the whip of self-hate to rip the flesh off his bones again and again and again between the pitiless jaws of Time and Retribution. Deep, deep in the bowels of the Shinra Mansion, with only the slow thoughts of stone and the howling demons in his head for company.

Vincent flinched, and Cloud felt it in his bones like the cold, cold slide of the Masamune between his ribs.

For one brutally naked moment Cloud saw the brokenness nestled between the cracks in Vincent's eyes, before it was shuttered behind walls of steel and miles of ice. Vincent Valentine had not been a Turk in name alone. He knew how to dance the dance of masks, had graduated from the game to become the master.

Guilt thickened Cloud's tongue, choking up the words of apology until they would not come. It had always been like this for him. In the most important, most vital moments of his life, his words had failed him. When Reno was asking him if he cared whether Marline and Denzel lived or died, when Tifa was demanding to know if she, they, were more important than the past, when Zack was dying, dying, dying in his arms and he was like a useless windup toy repeating back the words thrown at it.

And then the moment for forgiveness had passed, and Vincent's metal hand loosened, falling off Cloud's arm like the flesh had turned into something repulsive.

This Vincent may not have known the spears that could have torn Cloud apart like the other one had. He hadn't learned the power to make Cloud cry bitter, lonely tears. He hadn't walked beside Cloud while Cloud was buried in a fantasy world where he played Hero and SOLDIER First Class, or known the greatest most secret shames of his life, but this Vincent was hardly weaponless. Nor was he one to lie down and take a hit like the one Cloud had delivered without payback. Cloud wasn't a friend, lover, who he would make up with in time and kiss all the 'sorrys' into the smooth muscles of his back. He wasn't a companion he'd wandered the world with, fought impossible battles beside, and had his back and saved his life countless times. Cloud was a kid who'd hurt the only thing he had left to live for. The kid who was running away without even a word to the man who'd grieved, destroyed himself, for just a rumor of Cloud's survival. Cloud was a little shit who threw his mistakes into his face and pissed on them.

"_He grieved for you_," Vincent lashed back, the hissing words shaped into daggers, bullets, nets, whatever would hit some sense into the selfish boy before him.

Cloud looked away, his chin dipping, hair swinging in front of his eyes. Oh, it hurt to hear those words, but it wasn't anything he hadn't already known. Zack and Sephiroth, even Kunsel, they had missed him. He knew it intellectually. Just as he had known when he'd balance himself upon the edges of cliffs, the sleeve of his black sweater ripped off to reveal the rot infesting his left arm, slowly sickening his whole body, and debated what it would feel like to fall, that Tifa and the kids would miss him. The thought had kept his toes gripping the ledges even through the darkest days of the Geostigma's corruption, but it didn't bring a smile to his heart. The thought was a loadstone about his neck, and now so too was the thought of Zack and Sephiroth grieving his death. It was one more responsibility he'd failed, one more sin upon his shoulders, not a warm breeze of knowing he'd been loved.

They were waiting for him, expecting things from him, and he could not deliver. It was the Geostigma all over again, and he didn't have Tifa's softly brutal words ringing in his ears now. There was Zack, yes, the Zack in his head, but he only served to remind Cloud of all that was wrong and broken within him.

When Cloud didn't answer Vincent delivered in a voice like a rapier: "You don't deserve him." The gunman turned away from the stubbornly mute figure of the boy who'd spat upon his son's heart. He bent one last look over his shoulder at Strife, hoping his last words would have had some effect, would have motivated him to say, do something. But there was nothing. The boy would not be goaded into returning with Vincent, and Vincent had seen the Mako flashing in the boy's eyes: the boy would not be forced into returning either, not now.

Vincent's mouth flattened, his eyes narrowed to slits, and he spat with disgust: "Go then. Good riddance."

Cloud watched Vincent's retreating back, feeling helplessness tie about his feet like a jail crow's chain ball. He could neither speak nor go after the disappearing one-time friend. He both wanted Vincent to come back, to have a chance to explain, and wanted Vincent gone, leave him to the wreck he'd become, leave him to his choice. He was running away and he didn't want anyone pulling him back. If he tried to explain himself Vincent might find the right words to stop him, and Cloud didn't want to chance that. Couldn't endure any path but the one he'd chosen.

So he left. Left that shadowed curb where the corner streetlights didn't quite reach, left Junon where the streets were as ordered as a grid map and Shinra patrols loitered about in too many shops, around too many corners. He headed east to nothing and no-one, the goal of a weapon the only plan in his fractured brain. A weapon and running.

….

Vincent slipped like the dark side of the moon into the unremarkable hotel room where the Second Class SOLDIER Kunsel still slept awkwardly on the lone chair. Vincent's metal-toed boots made no more sound then a cat's paw across the thick carpeting. Kunsel shifted in his sleep as Vincent watched; his head lulling like a doll's and his ass sliding further down the hard wooden seat until he slouched, wide legged like one of those tough-guy, grill-mouthed, gun-flashing gang runners under the Plate. The picture was only missing the impossibly baggy pants those overgrown kids styled.

"Strife's gone then." Vincent's head whipped around back towards the still open door. Tseng was leaning insolently against the door frame, hooded eyes fixed upon Vincent. That look, so causal, so guarded, the perfect mask, reminded Vincent violently that this was the first time they'd been alone together since That Night.

His eyes slid away; down to the shadowed, uninspired place the carpet met the wall. "Yes. Strife's gone."

"Hardly a surprise," Tseng continued. "The kid was more than a little touched in the head." Vincent's eyes snapped up, and Tseng sliced him a superior smile. The Turk's face was as arrogant as the moon. "You didn't actually think I wouldn't have ways of eavesdropping through a _hotel room door_, did you?"

Vincent didn't reply. Of course it wasn't altogether a surprise. Tseng was a Turk after all. Vincent just supposed…what? That Tseng would respect the boy's privacy? That was incredibly naïve. Maybe he'd spent too long locked in that coffin and forgotten what it meant to be a Turk.

Then Tseng as if reading his mind said, all brutal, unapologetic honesty: "You shouldn't trust me, Valentine."

Vincent glared at Tseng; he didn't need the Turk to spell it out. He was well aware everything the Turk had seen, heard (honestly and dishonestly) would be reported back to the boss, Rufus. "I'm well aware of the price of Turk 'help.'"

Tseng's mouth twisted into something that didn't quite reach the sardonic smirk he'd no-doubt been aiming for. "Just see you don't forget. The Turks belong to him. But things haven't really changed all that much since your time have they Valentine?"

Vincent's lip curled behind the shield of his cloak. No, no they hadn't. Vincent was torn between disgust and the intimacy of personal experience. Turks sold their souls to the Company. Their reasons for selling themselves likes slaves were as varied as the personalities they developed to get them through the life they'd embraced like whores laying themselves down upon the pimp's silken bed. Tseng had been bought by Shinra, and Shinra owned him. Just as they had owned Vincent until they'd thrown him away, released him from the cage of Loyalty and The Job, and tossed him into the pit of Disposable.

"I'm a bit surprised you didn't try dragging him back to Midgar with you. I am sure the General would have thanked you even if you had to truss Strife up to get him there." Tseng said, his eyes laughing at Vincent, mocking Sephiroth's pain.

Vincent realized with stunning clarity that he hated Tseng. It was one of those moments when you can look at a scene paying out as if separate from oneself, and analyze it like a movie without the bother of emotional ties. Tseng was a bastard who enjoyed cruelty. Tseng liked his job. He loved it. The power (illusionary though it was), the ability to lay down one's conscious without the guilt, be able to say 'it's my job' and sink a bullet into the target's forehead, so neat and clean and oh so exhilarating. Tseng fed off of the freedom he'd obtained from his humanity.

Tseng was watching Vincent with those sly, smirking eyes. The ones that didn't care how much the knife they twisted in Vincent's gut hurt; the ones that enjoyed another person's pain. It made Vincent sick to think he'd once wore a suit the same color of blue. That he'd once dirtied his hands for Shinra, taken orders from Hojo, allowed his conscious to be shushed and shushed and shushed until it got lost somewhere deep inside all the blood he was downing in. It was terrifying really, how easily it was commit atrocities. They just kept piling up, the not-so-big-sins at the bottom of the pile, carrying the base for the bones of a tower reeking of death and decay, slippery with the black stains of sin.

Vincent knew all about sin. He was intimately familiar with its destructive nature. The standard cut and paste definition of sin was doing something you should not do. Vincent had enough of those types of sins on his hands to send him on a one way trip to purgatory. But there was the other kind of sin he'd committed too, the one that had sentenced Lucrecia to death and his son to years of torture at Hojo's hands. Sin was also not doing what you should do. And for committing this sin Vincent would never forgive himself.

Vincent's muscles trembled with suppressed violence. Tseng seemed oblivious to the hurricane of rage he'd stirred up in the gunman. He shrugged his shoulders in a move that seemed impossibly elegant for something so famously plebeian, and tossed the glossy tail of his black black hair over his shoulder, giving Vincent his back as he sauntered down the hallway.

Vincent wanted to hurt Tseng. The Turk (and Vincent could never forget the man's profession now) was tossing hot coals of contempt on his head, using words as slippery as eels and just as fanged to convey his 'friendly warning.' But most of all, in true Turk fashion, he was pretending nothing had transpired between them. And that Vincent could not abide. Not after spending days upon weeks gutting himself over how he'd violated (and been violated) that night.

Vincent hadn't made a conscious decision to follow the Turk, but he found his feet moving forward as the blood pounded hot and heavy in his ears. He wanted to commit violence against Tseng, wanted to punch the imperious smirk off his face. But no, that wasn't right, it wasn't _him_. He didn't lash out in anger. He wore his cool, untouchableness like a badge pinned to his breast. His ability to think logically and clearly even in situations that would have lesser men surrendering to their baser natures had always been his crowning jewel. He was ice, and it had made him a damn good Turk.

But he wasn't Vincent Valentine Turk anymore. He'd been torn apart and sewn back together upon the alter of science, and he was more monster then human now. Somewhere in the cold screaming burning green green green innards of the Shinra mansion's basement he'd lost that part of himself and become an animal instead. And like an animal he was a slave to his instincts.

The demons were screaming in Vincent's head, telling him to break Tseng. He, they, them, wanted to make the Turk admit he'd curled into the cup of Vincent's palm, laid himself out for Vincent to take at his leisure. The demons wanted to push Tseng down on his knees until he submits and begs Vincent not to stop. Or maybe it's not the demons, maybe its Vincent craving domination over Tseng, or maybe they're one and the same now. Maybe the demons are the ones pushing Tseng up against the wall and Vincent was just the observer with nothing but the illusion of a control he'd lost long ago.

Tseng let out a surprised grunt as Vincent slammed his body into the wall with enough force to plant bruises in that pale pale flesh tomorrow. The Turk struggled unsurprisingly, and Vincent wrapped his gauntlet about his throat, giving it a warning squeeze. He wanted to press his lips into the throbbing pulse point in that neck, he wanted to use his claw to tear bloody furrows in it. As Vincent pressed the long length of his body against the fighting Turk's, he knew, distantly, that he was out of control. Maybe that ever-so-delicate thread to sanity had been snapped, or maybe this violent beast a slave to his instincts was what he really was now under the false mask of control.

"Get off me, Valentine!" Tseng demanded, but Vincent heard the waver in his voice. Tseng wasn't so cocky now. _Look at me like scum now Turk. Turn those mocking, superior eyes on me now and see how long it takes me to gorge them out!_

And then Vincent was yielding to the base desires whipping through him like a firestorm, and he hit the Turk with a kiss. There was nothing gentle about it. Vincent's teeth sank into lips, painted them red. His tongue pressed into a mouth both softening for him and biting back in self-defense (self-denial). His hands fisted in raven hair, tearing at the bond that held it so sharply, so sophisticatedly high in that plum of darkness. His fingers dung into the Turk's scalp and shot bullets of desire down the roots of that freed hair. Vincent's body pressed heavily into the one trapped between it and the wall, grinding narrow hips into the place Tseng's thighs met his groin, thrusting his need into the Turk's. Vincent would have grinned triumphantly at the feeling of that mirrored erection if his face remembered such an expression.

The Turk stopped fighting. It was like a light switch had been flicked, and suddenly, beautifully the surrender that had been haunting Vincent since That Night overtook Tseng. He fell into the kiss, wholly claimed. The hands that had been grappling with the gunman, trying to break free of the inhumanly-strong hold, slipped away and Vincent knew he could order Tseng to do _anything _and the Turk would comply. It was the ultimate intoxication, this power over another human being. It was something Vincent both craved and left him sickened by. This wasn't him. This monster molesting a man in a dimly lit hallway, this wasn't who Vincent Valentine had once been. But deny it all he liked, Vincent couldn't stop the high of arousal he felt with Tseng's surrender.

It didn't take Vincent long to grind himself to completion against the Turk's body, but this time he made sure to drag Tseng down with him into this twisted, heady release. It was both a courtesy and a revenge for making him feel these wild, unnatural, unbeatable lusts.

There was a moment of stillness when Vincent's humid breath puffed out against Tseng's ear, stirring loosened black hair. When Vincent allowed his weight to fall into Tseng's body with all the limpness of a kill, and Tseng's hands gentled upon the red cloak they'd knotted in as his orgasm shot allow his nerves like a misfiring gun. Before Vincent stiffened, the haze of lost control stripped from him. Leaving him naked and armorless against the crime he'd just committed.

Vincent pulled back slowly, not wanted to look upon the face of the man he'd just violated (again), but if he ever deserved punishment it was for_ this_ sin. Vincent felt like the breath had been punched out of him as he starred down into Tseng's face. The Turk hadn't yet gained his control back, and there was a vulnerability, a brokenness sharpening the angles of his face, deepening the brownness of those eyes, adding curves of pain and loss to the shape of that mouth.

Vincent had to look away from what he'd done. Monster. Abomination. He'd killed, been a hired gun, failed the most important people in his life, endured the horror of wakening up to demons in his head and the utter demise of his humanity, but he'd never ever raped someone until Tseng. It was a whole new level of depravity that left a grim like dirty oil over the pores of his skin.

He wanted to justify it. It was only human nature to justify one's actions when they know they've sinned: I couldn't help myself. Didn't you see the way she was looking at me? She was asking to be fucked. He was being a prick. He deserved to be taken down a peg or two! You don't know what I've suffered! Don't I deserve some happiness too, some pleasure?

All the flailings of a child refusing to look into the face staring back at them from the mirror, refusing to see their own vileness for what it is.

Vincent let the guilt and shame feed upon him like sharks upon a carouse. It was nothing less then what he deserved. He looked into Tseng's eyes, watched the Turk knit his mask of cocky pick over the bare bones of a tattered and ever-so-fragile soul, and felt a pike of new remorse strike him.

He'd done it again. He'd let his prejudice and weakness for judging others blind him. He'd done the same with Lucrecia only instead of seeing a heatless, power hungry killer under her skin, he'd imagined an angel.

"_You try too hard to fit people into the boxes in your head, Vincent. It's why you'd never make a good scientist son; you judge and dismiss things too quickly. You have to open your mind to the possibly that you don't know everything, and that there are forces and patterns in this world outside your control or understanding. That, Vincent, is what makes a true scientist. Well," _his father had added wryly_, "That and an annoying insatiable curiosity."_

He'd gotten Tseng all wrong. He'd thrown motives and faces and desires into the mixing bowel that was Tseng's character, and stripped the Turk of his humanity. He didn't know a thing about Tseng, not one goddamn thing. Maybe Tseng did enjoy holding others under his power; maybe he did relish in cruelty, and get a kick out of other's pain. But Vincent didn't _know _that. He'd only assumed. And the end result of Vincent's hasty assumptions based off the mask Tseng presented the world, and the lighting fast rage it had ignited in Vincent, had led to this moment. It had tacked yet another sin upon the ox collar Vincent already struggled to breath beneath.

Vincent had been trained as a Turk to make quick-fire judgments based on a limited amount of information. You didn't always know if the gamble would pay off, if the target would swing right or left, if they were really packing or just compensating for an old injury, if they had backup up the stairs, if they had a watch dog he'd have to find and kill first, if the information your Turk brothers and sisters had collected was still accurate two days later, if the prostitute in the target's bed would be a she-cat with a hidden .22 magnum mini revolver in her bra or a whimpering mess. Vincent's tendency to fit people into boxes, categorizing them in seconds, had been an asset in the Turks. One he'd honed until he'd done it unconsciously, not known how to stop. It hadn't been a weakness until he'd misjudged Lucrecia so disastrously. He'd known Hojo was a slim ball from the moment he'd laid eyes on the scientist. He'd taken Hojo's cut-out and slipped it into the box of cold-blooded scientist long before Lucrecia told him about the Jenova Project. But even he had not realized what a psychopath Hojo was until it was far far too late.

Vincent wasted no more time putting body space between himself and Tseng. He didn't want to feel the Turk's body pressing into his, a physical reminder of the atrocity he'd committed. He couldn't bring himself to look into Tseng's eyes as he forced out an apology through a throat that felt chocked with nails and came out just as weak and feeble as the mere words were. "I do not deserve forgiveness. I forced myself upon you once again, but I wish you to know—"

Tseng cut him off in the middle of his solemn speech. The Turk's shoulders had straightened and he'd gone back to looking at Vincent's down the fine point of his nose. "You really are a self-absorbed bastard, aren't you Valentine?" Tseng queried, his lips curling into a sneer Vincent begun to hate all over again. "Get over yourself. If you'd raped me do you actually think I wouldn't have shot your balls off by now?" Tseng huffed, rolling his eyes at the shocked gunman. "Now get out of my way. I've got a report to send on a deserting Cadet and comatose KIA rebel Commander." He shoved passed Vincent, and the ex-Turk could only blink as Tseng swaggered down the hallway as sleek and powerful as a panther tripping on godhood.

Vincent felt the anger growling in the back of his head again, but he wrestled it down. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. Tseng acted unaffected and untouchable, but Vincent had not been imagining things when he'd seen the Turk heaving up his guts in the bathroom after their last encounter, nor had he forgotten the lost, fragile look in Tseng's eyes. Vincent wasn't going to dance around this in his head a thousand times wondering if he'd gone crazy or if the Turk really was that accomplished of an actor. Whatever Tseng claimed, Vincent had hurt him. Maybe this hadn't been rape (Tseng was right to say he would have retaliated by now if it had been), but it wasn't entirely consensual either. Whatever it was, it was sick. But he couldn't lie to himself and say he didn't crave that breaking moment when all Tseng's masks fell and he laid himself down to Vincent's will like a drug. He knew this would not be the last he saw of Tseng. He both dreaded and anticipated their next encounter.


End file.
